


One Of The Lost Ones

by trippydooda



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, First Person, Gen, Pre-Skyrim events, Snow Elves, original charaters - Freeform, semi-graphic depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trippydooda/pseuds/trippydooda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped. - Tony Robbins</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It is the 7th of Rain's Hand, and it is getting increasingly cold here in Solstheim. My hands are steadily freezing as the fire is dying, but I hardly notice. Father says the war is getting worse. The Nords are proud people, he tells me, and they will not give up easily. He tells me stories that various Falmer are telling him, and the Nords do not sound pleasant. I sit quietly in my small dress, playing with the awkward sleeves that drape loosely off my elbows as I listen to the elders speak about the war. It concerns me, but not enough to look out to see the war-torn land for myself. Up here in the North, I do not have to worry about my home being torn apart and losing all my precious books. They are the only things that keep my sane lately. No, I rely my information on the war from the elders. I know to stay quiet, though. There was once where I disagreed and spoke out, and was immediately struck down.

I can only hear small amounts of what they're talking about. Apparently it's more important than previous conversations or else they would have let me sit closer. Instead I am tapping my boot on the wood floors, trying to figure out what's wrong. I can hear small things about the Snow Prince and his army doing well, but… But something. I cannot hear the rest and it gets annoying enough that I get up to leave. I go to the kitchen in search of something to eat, and when I find a small roll (that's slightly stale) I peek in and notice that the elders don't even seem to realise I left. I chew my bread angrily. Forget them.

Part of me wants to go out into the town, but it's far too cold today. I sigh and just slowly trudge towards my room to read about the Dawn times. The times of dragons. That seems to be all I can find that I haven't read yet. Mother tells me that I should get out more; make friends. I tell her it's harder than she seems to think. I am quiet. I am not very interesting. Other people have no interest in my shy demeanor. Just as I sit down to read, I hear my mother open my door. I turn to her, and she looks upset.

"What is it, Mother?" I ask, a tad concerned she comes to me like this.

She sighs and takes it upon herself to sit on my bed. She plays with the frays of my worn down blanket. "It's about the Snow Prince," she says quietly, as if someone might be listening. "They say that his armies are doing well. Fantastic, in fact. But there is something that bugs me." She brushes her silver hair behind her ears. It seems she is done speaking.

I sit with my thoughts, unsure of how to comfort her. It was a mistake once that I did not listen to her hindsight and got tore up because of it. My mother has a strange talent of knowing when terrible things are going to happen. And it's always terrible things. She has never been right about a healthy baby being born or a fighting couple coming out okay and even married. No, she just sees when things are going to get worse, and now I fear I appear apprehensive to her.

Instead I lean forward and clasp my hands around her nervous ball of a fist. "Don't worry, Mother," I whisper, keeping the safeness of being quiet, "I'm sure the war will end soon." I smile, but she just looks up.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she says with a pasty tone. 

The 16th of Rain's Hand comes to me and the war is still raging. I practice my magic and my mentor tells me I am getting better. He comes to pat my shoulder and gives me pointers, telling me I must concentrate on the center of my target, and release my power accordingly. His words are smooth and careful, so I do not mind when he tells me I am wrong. I wish more people had this kind of care towards me. The elders certainly don't; whenever they confront me, they are always bitter and unruly, often getting too angry over small things. To be honest, I do not like the elders, but they are easy to ignore. 

I flash an ice storm and upon destroying all the apparitions my mentor had summoned, he claps and comes forward, giving me another reassuring pat which cracks a smile. He is saying something about he has to get better conjuration spells, but I start to lose interest when I catch sight of wounded soldiers behind him. They are taken into the care house as he continues to speak, and I find myself having to interrupt him. "Do you think we will win?" I suddenly say, stern and clear. This is not like me.

My mentor stops. "W-What do you mean?" He, too, is taken aback by my confidence in my speech, or rather, the fear it possessed. 

"Father tells me the Nords do not like to give up. He says they are proud and stubborn. They also say the Snow Prince is doing well. I'm just… Concerned." I push back my light metal crown. 

He laughs lightly, trying to lighten me up no doubt. "You're too young to worry about it. He knows what he's doing. The Falmer are sure to take back our land."

I keep to myself that we were already defeated once.

I wake up on the 30th of Rain's Hand in a slightly better mood than I had been the past weeks. It's warmer than it has been and I decide to walk a bit. Our small town is peaceful for where it stands. In the very North we tend to get the worst of the snow storms, and sometimes it seems the Gods like to toy with us and send hard rain to destroy the poor selection of crops we are able to grow. We are lucky, however, to be secluded and hard to reach, so I tell myself this as I stand in the market that if we were to lose this war, our town might just be safe. I stare at some apples and frown. Maybe not.

The shopkeeper seems to get annoyed that I am not buying anything and I move on. It is eerily quiet today and I'm not sure what to do with myself. I whistle as I walk, charging small ice spells to keep my magicka trained and under control. I've been told that since we Falmer have found a special talent in magic, it can also be abused. We learned through more than a few fatal affairs that if we let our magic slide, it can become too powerful. Where I should be afraid of this, I am curious as to what it's like. Father tells me I am too curious for my own good. 

I am passing by the care house when I hear groans and yelps of pain. My feet stop moving and I stare into it, my curiosity burning. I need to know what exactly is going on in the battle field. Cautiously, I almost tip-toe into the house, brushing past the curtains that serve as the only door. I am greeted by the smell of rotten flesh and it burns my nose. Instinctively I bring my mouth to cover my nose, but then realise that might be rude and drop it abruptly, trying my best to breathe through my mouth. It seems I can almost taste it too.

I am careful about my steps as to not cause any more damage to these poor soldiers. The healers are working vigorously on some of the more wounded ones, so I leave them alone. Instead, I pick out a soldier sitting in the corner, sharpening his dagger. He doesn't look too beaten up, so I decide to talk to him.

I'm short of words when I finally stand in front of him. He glances at me, and then right back down at his dagger. Maybe he is used to these kinds of stares. I play with my hands before finally speaking. "You don't look very injured," I blurt out, and suddenly gasp, trying to read his face. 

He just laughs and sets his dagger down. "I don't, huh? Well, I have bad internal bleeding, so it doesn't really show. Now, if I was shirtless, I'm sure a pretty little girl like you would faint. Bad scars and all." I flush at the compliment but quickly ignore it. Most people tell me those things just to tease me; no one ever means it.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, thinking maybe I should leave.

"You're fine," he says in a calming voice. "But why is such a small girl like you here?" He inquires, and before I am offended, I do seem out of place. I scratch the back of my head.

"I… I just don't know what really goes on outside this town, what with the war and all. I thought maybe I could learn a few things is all." I watch him carefully.

He just nods. "I understand, but you must know, it's a scary world out there. War is the worst of it, really. As for this one? We've had much worse. A lot of soldiers are getting wounded, but the Nords are falling short. They are losing more men than we are, and they seem to be losing more hope as well. The Snow Prince is leading us well, and I am glad to be home, knowing he has it under control without me there."

My eyes widen. "You fought along side the Prince?" I have only heard rumours of him. I hear he is a brave man, wielding such a powerful yet calming voice, one that could assure the most damned that they were going to be saved. 

"Of course," the soldiers says, as if it were hardly a question. "We all fight along side him, though I suppose I see your true question. So, yes, I was his main man to go to. Once I had gotten hurt he assured me he was alright. I feel he is."

I wiggle where I stand. "Is he nice?"

The man smiles. "Very. And strong."

I smile to myself. Maybe things are really okay.

It is Second Seed now. Only a few days in, but we are drawing close to the middle of the year, and still the war is on. My mentor has been gone these past few weeks, and my magic is getting stronger. As I wake up, I consider practicing on my own, but my thoughts are stopped by my mother coming in once again. She looks weak.

"Mother?" I ask and stand to help her sit at my desk. She thanks me quietly. 

"Listen, I need you to know something," she tells me, her face drawing into a serious stance. I nod. "Never think you can't use your magic to defend yourself. I know Father tells you it is not to be abused, but if you're in danger, you use it, alright?" Without thinking, I nod. She sighs, and I'm sure it is of relief. 

The rest of the morning is tense. I eat my food quietly, as my parents and the elders are both gone. It feels strange, but I almost don't mind the peace. I spend more time than usual cleaning up, taking my time and humming my favourite tunes. I am putting the last plate away when the front door slams open. I stop what I am doing and listen carefully. It is my father, I already know. I can hear him breathing; it's heavy. I decide to take it upon myself to step out.

His face is almost paler than usual. Its normal blue has been replaced with a white, and it scares me. Sweat is glistening on his forehead, and it also worries me. Today felt like it was going to be colder than normal. I play with the strand of hair the falls over my ear as he wipes his forehead. He turns to me and his eyes widen, as if he had not noticed me standing there before. He rushes to me and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly. He tells me to stay quiet and he pets my head, swaying. I am scared. Confused.

"What's the matter?" I ask, my voice muffled by being in his chest. I can hear his heart beating - it is fast.

He slowly lets go and pushes me back gently. His head hangs low before he finally rises it and stares me firmly in the eyes. 

"It is the Snow Prince," he says, "He has died."

It is the Second Seed and I am standing, staring at the chaos in my town. I watch as my father tries to calm down a small child, our neighbour, but it is no use. My breathing has become quick and I am lost. I feel like sliding down the doorway and just sitting, letting the Nords come and kill me where I sit. Instead I stand and stare dumbly until a small scream brings me back. I have to get out. I can't stay. I turn and run into the house, despite hearing my father calling out to me, probably to stop. I storm into the small library we own and begin to rip apart the shelves. I am looking for a spell book. One that can save me.

It is far into my collection, but I find it. I tear through its pages, searching for the right spell to use. My quivering finger lays upon and it and I lick my nervous lips. Ice Storm. It is supposed to be used to hurl at other enemies… But I knew better. With my small practices I knew I could use it for me. I could encase myself in it… Be safe. For a little while. I take the book with me and dart through the house until I reach my room and grab a small satchel and stuff the book inside. I breathe in. I can do this. I wipe my hands. This is happening and I can do this.

I rush to the door again, slip on my shoes and step out into the chaos. My father is gone, and so is the small child he was attempting to comfort. The air is particularly cold when it slices my cheeks as I run. I can't find the elders anywhere, or my parents. I stop in the small town square and bounce on my feet, my fingers trembling and playing with each other. I do not know what to do. I feel like screaming but I just press my mouth into a hard line. North. Water. It was my only way out.

I can tell people are already escaping; there are mansions that are deserted, small houses torn completely apart. Animals eat people's meals that they left so suddenly. My mind thinks that perhaps the Snow Prince dying meant we were doomed, but wasn't a meal too good to leave? The foolish thought leaves my mind as I run out of the town. I climb over the fence, ripping my dress slightly, and then fall with a hard thump on the icy ground. It hurts, but I get over it. Checking that my book was still there, I run forward again, faster this time. 

By the time I reach the shore I think I can hear the horn sound back in my town. The horn always meant chaos. A time of danger. I couldn't bring myself to turn around. Instead I bring out my book and kneel on the shore, opening its pages. The wind turns them without my control - my fingers are trembling too much to fully contain them. I tame it enough so I can read the spell. I have to go over it a few times, fear clouding my vision. Finally it settles in, and I stand. 

Breathing in deeply, I step into the cold water. I wince, the icy water different than the air. I wave my hand and cast a water walking spell that lifts me up delicately, something I could never do myself. I step forward, watching the ripples beneath my careful steps. The horn sounds again and I stop rigid, my eyes squeezing shut. No. I had to keep going. I make it about a few hundred feet into the bay until I feel as if it is far enough. I spread my arms out, the wind greeting me with a cold hug. It wraps itself around me as I concentrate on my magic. My eyes are still shut, but they are relaxed now. I can feel my magicka pouring around me as frost builds into my open palms. When the balls of frost are the size of a large ball I flash my eyes open, the blue bursting out of them. With a great force, I start to bring my hands together. There is an opposing element keeping them from meeting completely, but I insist they touch. The water starts to rise around me, and my fear almost makes me stop, but the fear of life without the Prince takes over and I ignore all else. With a beam of frost flying around me, I clasp my hands together. 

Water comes up first, then turning into ice. It flies around me until I push my hands in front of me again, the ice encasing me completely. As the final water cracks into ice, I plunge into the water, sinking down and being pushed along by the small current. I close my eyes as I relax, the ice starting to slow my heartbeat. So it was working. I smile just a small smile until I am completely still, the current the only thing pushing me along. Back on the shore, the pages of my book flip wildly, and perhaps an animal comes to sniff it, but I will never read its words again.


	2. Hamish

"Hamish!" A voice calls out beneath the snowy air. "Hamish, get up, it's late!" I curl into a tighter ball and groan, pretending to be still asleep. "Goddammit!" The voice continues and is followed by feet rapping against the stairs, surely to come and meet me. Behind my securely shut eyes and wool blanket I hear my door slam open. Stay asleep, Hamish, I tell myself. He'll leave. The thought passes that maybe I should make a snoring sound, but perhaps that would be too fake. Instead I choose to stay still and breathe heavily yet silently. 

"That's not going to work," the voice says dryly. Before I lose control and sigh I stretch slightly. Faking sleeping was probably my best talent. "Seriously."

Behind my shut eyes my brows furrow. Can't they just give up? I'm already late and the boss is already gunna have my head…. or most likely my breakfast. I resist the urge to whine and groan. Instead I just give up and roll over, my eyes turning to darts at my colleague. He is tapping his foot like a woman and my small red haired braid falls over my forehead and gets in my eye's way. My brows furrow farther. "Happy?" I groan, and fall off my bed. 

I can almost hear his smirk from beneath my wonderfully comfortable blankets. "I wasn't even going to report you to the boss." He helps me take off my security blanket and I grab at it like a small child. Too fucking cold for me. Always. I whimper as he throws it back on my bed. "Really, how can you stand to sleep all day?"

"Ten in the morning is hardly all day," I retort, standing slowly and arching my back as it cracks. He cringes at the sound and I just smirk. "Really, James, how can you be such a pansy?" I mock his tone and he just growls. 

"Asshole," he says as he punches me and walks to the doorway. He stops before leaving, "Just come out, okay?" I give him a thumbs up as I hop into my pants. 

When he leaves I finally sit back on my wonderful bed, grabbing all the folds of my blankets and smelling them. So warm. I begin to fall back to asleep and then hear my name being called again. Damn, how can he tell that? I turn from my wonderful bed as it calls after me with a broken heart and I throw on my fur armour. I secure on my gauntlets and tie back my hair slightly as I search around the room. My flaming red hair is always the subject of the jokes around; how draugr are going to come find me and take my soul, damn me to Sovngarde, blah, blah, blah. Still, I open the window and let the icy air consume me. I breathe it in deeply.

Skyrim. It wasn't my home, but it sure was growing on me. If it weren't for the fact that Japhet's Folly was so far in the damn north I would probably love it. Event the highest mountains in Cyrodiil weren't this damn cold. Still, I prefer it over Elsweyr. Damn cats in the desert. Just sand. For miles. No thank you. I shuffle my boots on as a stale piece of bread meets its fate in my jaws. I chew on it lightly as I wrap and knot. Putting my armour on would always take me forever, no matter how many years I have ever been doing it. When I finish getting myself warm (as warm as this damn armour could get) and swallow my bread, I creep down the stairs of our little shack to see who was waiting to wail on me as soon my face showed itself. 

Surprisingly, none. Although, to my dismay, there was another few letters on the table almost undoubtably for me. I trudge over and lift one as if it were the size of five frost trolls… or perhaps just the fattest guy in the camp. I chuckle at the thought and slice open the parchment with my small steel dagger and unfold the gingerly creased paper as another plea from home stared at me:

_4E 197, 1st of Frostfall_

_Hamish,_

_I will keep sending you these letters until you come home. Your father and I are waiting until you give up this dream of getting rich from stealing and killing. Please just write us back and tell us you're alive. We miss you._

_xoxoxo,_

_Mum._

My lips curve into disgust and as I'm crumpling the paper and throwing the rest of the pile into the fire, I hear James behind me, leaning on the doorway. Without looking I ask, "What?" I poke at the parchment as the wax seal begs for mercy as it melts away.

"You should write back sometime, you know," he says quietly. "Just let them know how much of an asshole you are."

"We've been through this," I scoff, "They deserve this." I stand and turn, my face turning from disgust and hatred to sudden cheerfulness and optimism. "Well forget them, I'm hungry." James rolls his eyes but I just follow him around.

Even though I have gotten better at covering up my hatefulness towards home, the date of the letter sticks in my mind. It was almost a year ago then that I had decided to leave home and become a bandit. A pirate, even. I try not to show my frown when I think of the stereotypical night I left: it was raining tremendously, lightning flashing itself once or twice when it felt like it. I had been shoving anything and everything in my bag when my dad came in, screaming that I was a worthless boy who wasn't grateful for anything. Even now I scoff under my breath. It was all because my older brother got everything he wanted. He was smart, funny, everything. I was left under his shadow. I had every right to leave that intoxicating house. Christ, if I had stayed--

A thump hits my forehead and I fall back into the snow. Thankfully flurries had come the night before so there was some sort of cushion, but the shock from the initial hit hurt like hell. Not even realising my eyes had flung shut, they now spring open, my hand rubbing the spot on my forehead that got hit. James is leaning over me, along with two other bandits and I just stare for a minute. "What the hell…?" I sit up and probably lose all colour in my face. Our boss's right hand man - Number One he is called - is standing there in his nordic steel plated armour. He's even worse than the boss because, in my opinion, he was mad about not being at the top, so he took it out on the little guys. Guys like me.

"Hamish," he growls. Of course out of all the hundreds of bandit's names, he knew mine. I can hear James stifling his smug laugh behind me. "I see you're up late again." He stares down with that dipshit fiery glow his eyes had. There is definitely no intelligence in there, but there sure as hell is a lot of pent up rage. I salute him mockingly. 

"Howdy," I chime in a sing-song voice, followed by a smirk. He knows I'm not afraid of him, or at least if I am, all the fear is drowned out by my specific hatred for him.

"You're on my last nerve, boy. You hea--"

"Aren't I always?" I whistle, and I can see the red come to his cheeks. 

I guess I pissed him off enough, since the next thing I know is his fist grabbing my collar and lifting me up off the cold ground. I consider "thanking" him by saying my feet were cold, but instead I let his rage build up on its own. "I'm getting real sick of you. You're not dead only because the boss seems to think you're useful. But I _am_ allowed to punish you."

I let my shrug stay with my shoulders lifted. "Hit me," I smirk. 

He just lets out this really strange hollow laugh of his that could kill even the worst of hagravens. After he's done scaring away all the trolls, he glares back at me. "Don't tempt me, puny boy. No, you're just going to go down to the rocks and dig. I don't care where or why, but you're not stopping until sundown. Y'hear that?" Before I can answer smugly, he drops me and throws me a spade I almost don't catch. He just laughs again and walks away, his armour clunking. I am left with a distasteful frown.

I feel James pat my shoulder as the other bandits laugh. "Good work, soldier. I bet mom would be so proud of you." I slap his hand away and shove the spade in his face with a smirk. 

"You're coming with me, ass," I taunt, and call after the boss's right hand man. In shorter than two minutes, James is handed a spade and we both are making our way down the cliffs of Japhet's Folly. Yes, cliffs. There weren't really hills here - just huge falls that you kind of have to just do a leap of faith to get down. Or, in my case, fly down on pieces of broken ships, gleefully sledding down the icy rocks. 

Life is hard here. I'm always getting in trouble, not getting up when everyone else did, messing up on missions; I'm a mess. But then there are days like these, when I smile at the sun that barely meets the clouds, and feel the cold wind scrape my face, and, hey, life is alright. Behind me I hear James yelling at me for something, but it doesn't reach my ears. A chunk of rock hits my cheek, barely missing my eye, and in seconds I am face planted in the snow. I can hear James laughing behind me, and I start to laugh too, bringing my head up and shaking violently to get all the snow out. He hands me a spade and I stand, brushing off the snow, face beaming.

"You're some kid, Hamish," he laughs as he tells me, and we dig.

It's mostly silent, the only sound in my ears is the ocean rolling and James huffing. By the position of the sun, it has to be close to dusk, but I don't even feel tired. Every now and again James throws something at me, but I barely notice it. My mind wanders and once I hit something hard in the ground, it swings back. Bending slowly, I just notice it's a damaged emerald and frown.

"Find something?" James asks, almost on cue with my frown.

"Just a jacked up emerald," I say and turn, but James isn't facing me. In fact, he's facing the ocean, and I can't seem to see why. I try to call after him, but he waves a hand behind him as if to shush me, like he's trying to listen for something. My frown curls deeper and I drop my spade, trudging over, wondering now why he finds the ocean so damn interesting. "Hey, if boss's little bitch finds us--" I start, but he glares at me, and points out to sea. I grumble but look out, and see the ocean glowing. It's silence between us after that.

It's almost a mile out, if I know anything about distances (and I do), and it's coming closer. James and I are watching silently as the glowing fades, and by now the object in question is almost to the shore. I hear James step back, but I stay transfixed on the ever slowly fading glowing. Slowly a sphere emerges from the water, bumping the shore and rolling anticlimactically to my feet. I frown and poke it. Just a sphere of ice. James makes his way next to me and laughs, apparently embarrassed he was so taken aback by a big chunk of ice.

"Did some giants decide to play ice hockey or something?" He says beside me, laughing. I try to laugh with him, but I can't help but notice it felt hollow when I poked it, so I hit it again, harder, and yep, it's definitely hollow inside. James realises my point and steps back. "What the…?" He starts to say, but I spring to get my spade and ready it to bash the sphere.

"Are you really going to try to break that?" He asks, and my only reply is a hard _whack_ on the edge. Saying it didn't do much would be an understatement, so I throw the spade aside.

"It's hollow, James," I reiterate, and turn to him. "Maybe it has some fortune in it." I watch as James' expression turns from blank into hysterics. I frown at him.

"Hamish, it's a big thing of _ice_. What could possibly be hidden in there?" He's laughing still and I mumble _your mum_ , before pulling out one of the small knives I always keep with me.

I bring it up and rest it on a spot where it sounds the most hollow and take a rock and _bam_. A crack forms, and small pieces of ice bounce off and hit me. I grin and do it again, making a harder crack and suddenly it starts to open. James has stopped laughing, eyes fixed on my carving, but soon I don't have to do much more, and the sphere breaks - or more shatters - into billions of small ice shards. For a moment I am rendered blind, as I assume James is too, and it takes almost a minute for the ice to finally disappear from my vision.

"Any septims in there buddy?" I hear James say, but I don't answer. I don't say anything. In fact, I don't really blink. I just stare, and soon James joins me.

A girl. She is floating for a brief moment before falling onto the shore, presumably dead. She isn't moving, and I'm afraid to poke her. James apparently is too, and we both just stand there completely awestruck. Her hair is white, I notice, a brilliant white that almost matches the snow. Her skin is a light blue, something I have never seen before. She doesn't look old, and I find myself stumped as to why she had white hair. I am about to ask James when I catch her breathing only silently, her torn dress' fabric moving silently. Holy shit. She's alive. 

My first reaction is to grab my knife and I hold it out, pushing James back as if she's going to devour us both. Dusk is definitely coming when she opens her eyes, and they are the most brilliant blue. I suddenly am forgetting the possible danger and am only taken aback by how strangely beautiful she is. Her expression is blank, and she doesn't even try to get up. She only stares into my eyes, like she's cast a spell, and then she is out again. 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

It takes careful planning, but I decide to take the strange girl back to my room. I scramble after she is out again and rush to pick her up like I'm cradling her, and her skin is cold, but she is still breathing. James helps me in sneaking her back, distracting boss' idiot right hand man and explains how "exhausted" we are from digging. I dash between buildings, keeping myself hidden from the other bandits until I am in my little house, up into the room I share with James. I carefully set the girl down on my bed and stare at her until James comes, and I realise I have lost track of time.

He is panting, obviously he has run here, and he asks, "What do we do with her?" I can only shrug, and he tells me he's getting us some food, but I barely hear it. My eyes are still on the strange girl and her steady yet slow breathing.

James isn't back yet when she opens her eyes again. I found myself dosing off, but then brought back when she starts to sit up, rubbing her eyes. I stay silent, and it's as if she doesn't know where she is yet. When she turns to meet me, she gasps and almost falls over, bringing her hands up as some magic engulfs them, and I raise my hands and eyebrows.

"I don't mean harm," I say and yet she does not lower her hands. It occurs to me that perhaps she doesn't speak our language, so I take my knife, present it to her, and then drop it. I keep my hands raised and she eventually lets her magic down. I silently sigh of relief. 

I try again: "Can you understand me?" I say it slowly, and her response is a slow nod. Elated, I am trying to find my questions. I want to ask why her hair is white, why her skin is cold, why she is here, how the hell she managed to get into a block of ice, but she speaks first.

"Your hair… Is such a brilliant red," she says, and her voice is soft. It is delicate, and I feel like if it were something tangible I would break it instantly. 

My expression folds into dismay - I hate how red my hair is, but I don't say. I can only notice how confused she is by my hair colour, as if she had never seen red hair before. She is studying me now, and I can see her eyes trailing me up and down. I straighten myself, coughing lightly. I am waiting for her to speak again, but it doesn't seem like she is going to.

"You know… It's not normal for a girl to pop out of a big sphere of ice," I say, and she momentarily looks offended, but then it fades into sadness, and I regret saying anything. We are silent again for what feels like hours before I decide to speak again, "I have a lot of questions, too." 

Her eyes glide to me, and they are full of sadness. I look into them and all I can see is the way my mother looked at me when I left. This girl is broken inside, I think, and she didn't apparently want to be in that ice. We are stuck staring at each other until my door opens, James bursting through with bread. Lots and lots of bread.

The girl flies up her hands, magic ready, and she looks at me with alert covering up the sadness, and I shake my head. Watching James carefully as he stares in horror, she lowers her hands. 

"So… She's alive," he says and tip toes around me and sits on his bed, his eyes on the girl. He is chewing lightly on a piece of bread before he tosses one to her, and it lands on her lap. "I hope you like bread," he says.

We just watch as she picks it up, gracefully chewing on it. She appears to like it, but suddenly there is sadness in her eyes again. She looks at me with those eyes, and it makes me want to go re-burn all my mother's letters. I clear my throat just to break the silence.

"I am afraid to ask," she starts, her voice shrinking with her posture, "But I must know." Her hair falls into her face, and I just notice the messy bun it's in. "What year is this?" I can barely hear her.

"Uhm," I stutter, remembering the letter from this morning, "197." I see her cringe as her eyes shoot up, and the sadness is gone, replaced with confusion. 

She repeats our words silently, her mouth only moving. She holds the sides of her head and chokes on something, perhaps the bread, and then looks back at me (why me?) and the horror is laced with fear, and possibly regret. Her breathing is faster now, and I stand as she starts to hyperventilate. My hand is hovering over her when she faints, plops right onto my bed, and my hand retreats. 

"Well she seems pretty upset by that," James says, and shoves more bread into his mouth. "Why d'ya think, huh?" I shake my head.

"White hair… Icy blue skin…" I mumble and turn to James. "I don't think she's any race we really know." I bite my lower lip and James just laughs, spare bread crumbs falling off his lips. 

"Hamish you don't sound like you, come on, be real. Just go to bed, and this will all sort itself out," he says and tosses me some bread. I decide not to remind him that there is currently a strange girl using my bed, and just nod. 

I wait until he is asleep (and unfortunately, the girl is too) before I step out of our room and creep downstairs. Everyone in the house is asleep, and I grab a lantern before stepping outside. There's an old library in the basement of the main tower, and that's where I'm headed. When I was still in school, my history teacher would always make us study ancient culture, and I can't help but remember something about a race with white hair and skin like ice. But that wouldn't make sense, and my mind keeps pushing out the idea, but it comes back when my eyes rest on the book I was looking for. 

_Fall of the Snow Prince._

I pick it up, along with one other, _Falmer: A Study_ , and sit in a small corner with my lantern, reading. My eyes are widening as I read the account of the infamous Falmer, the race doomed once their prince fell, but they are described just as the girl sleeping in my bed: White hair. Skin blue and covered in a thin layer of ice. Bright blue eyes. A powerful harness on magic. I set the book down and curl into the cloak I am wearing, taking in the possibility there is a Falmer still alive. I fall asleep there trying to wrap my mind around it. 

Thankfully I am awake before anyone else, and I dash out, leaving the books and lantern behind. I see astonished faces and hear gasps as I dash by people only just waking up as I make a beeline towards my house. I fling the door open and clamber up the stairs, not caring if I wake anyone up. I do however carefully open the door to my room and gingerly clink it behind me. I let out a heavy breath as James and the girl still stay asleep, so I decide to stare at the girl some more.

I pick up a small piece of her hair and play with it between my two fingers. It is incredibly soft, but it is most definitely naturally white. Next is her skin. I carefully run my thumb against the exposed part of her arm and bring away a small layer of ice. My lips press into a line. She has to be one of them. I stare at her and recall how they disappeared. How they were forced to be slaves. How ugly they must be now. I sit there long enough for her to open her eyes. They are still that brilliant blue.

I want to ask her so many questions, but instead I say: "You're a Falmer, aren't you?" It sounds strange coming out of mouth, and I feel like I'm not myself in this moment.

She looks surprised to hear her own race, but then her gaze follows down to my bed and she plays with the sheets. I can see behind her hair she is biting her lip. "How do you know?" She asks quietly, and I have to try not to laugh.

"White hair? Blue skin with ice? It's pretty obvious," I say, and I am slightly laughing at the end. She glares at me for that.

Her glare fades, and suddenly there is confusion. Her brows furrow and she has her hand up, counting with her fingers. I shift in my seat, James still snoring behind me. After she is done counting she looks at me again. "I am obvious?" She asks, and it dawns on me that she must not know. I swallow hard at that. 

"J-Just, we don't have many mer around her is all," I spit out quickly, unable to bring myself to tell her that her entire race has been obliterated for thousands of years. I shrug and make a point to look away as she curls her knees to her chest and taps her feet. 

"I see," she mumbles, her voice small. There is a small silence in the room, save James' snoring, but it's a comfortable distraction from the tension I can start feeling on my skin. "Where am I?" She asks suddenly, and perhaps it's not that it's sudden, it's that I'm afraid to answer. 

"Skyrim," I say as confidently as I can, which, really, isn't that confident at the moment. 

There is another nod before she rests her head between her knees. I can't see her face, but I can feel her confusion building, and I am afraid of any questions she might have. Instead there is a noise, a grumbling sound, and I look to see her holding her stomach. She nibbles at her lip.

"I appear to be hungry." She looks at me with hopeful eyes and I sigh. Perhaps getting food would be an appropriate distraction. 

"Stay here," I say, and briskly leave her with the still snoring James.

It is strange being in the mess hall so early in the morning, all the food is there and I make sure to grab lots of sweet rolls. I still get strange looks but I just push them away, trying to find my usual spunk, but there is worry present in my aura and I can feel it rubbing off. One of the higher ups stops me when I am about to leave, arms full of food. 

He glares at me with uncertainty. "You're up early," he says carefully. I shrug nonchalantly. "And you have a lot of food," he adds.

I am at first struck with fear, but quickly erase it and beam up at him. "Brilliant deduction," I chime, glad I have found at least part of myself.

He snorts, and not so much in the joking sense. "I want to know why you have enough food to feed a platoon." He's still glaring at me, but it's not very frightening. 

I shrug. "Maybe being up early makes me hungry." I am resisting the urge to tap my feet in impatience. I don't want to leave that girl alone too long, and as the higher up is trying to find a clever response I realise I don't know her name. I also realise I have to keep her away from anyone here. As I feel the worry settle back in, I just shove past the higher up and dash back to my small house. Once inside I can breathe easier, and once I am in the room I can breathe perfectly. 

She is still sitting on the bed, but she is staring at James and how he's curled himself into his blankets. She looks shocked and slightly worried, and meets my gaze when I step in. She points to him delicately, and I wonder if anything about her isn't graceful. "Is he going to be okay?" She asks and I laugh.

"Yeah, he just sleeps like that," I say as I hand her sweet rolls. "Here, I got you some food." Her eyes light up and she takes the rolls greedily, but not messily, and I watch her eat, unable to really find my appetite. She takes small bites from the rolls and is careful to make sure her face doesn't get sticky. I am transfixed by her, still trying to figure out how she is alive, and how she has not aged a single day. She notices me staring, and stops eating, licking a spare crumb from the edge of her lips.

"You're staring," she comments, and adds quickly, "Am I strange?" She looks calm as she says it on the outside, but her eyes have the faint glint of fear in them. I assume she doesn't quite trust me yet. 

My mind bounces to telling her everything that's happened to her race, but instead I smile weakly and shake my head. "No, I was just thinking… I don't know your name." I nervously lick my lips as she seems taken aback at the question, but straightens herself.

"You have not revealed yourself, either," she retorts and I try not to laugh at her choice of words. I realise she has a point and I shrug, smiling slightly. 

"You got me there," I say, and then hold out my hand. She is startled, and jumps back, but I just wiggle my fingers. "Let's do an introduction, shall we?" She is still staring at my hand like it's a new weapon. I figure out I have to explain it to her: "I'm gunna tell you my name, and then you'll say yours, and we shake hands. Got it?" She scoots closer and nods lightly. I cough and say, "My name is Hamish…" I trail off slightly at the end, making a point to leave my last name out of it.

She sits up slightly and holds out her hand, still reluctant to meet mine. "They call me Fyll," she says and I make a note to dismiss her choice of words. I am instead noticing now as she takes my hand, that her skin is still cold. I still shake it, carefully though, and when I pull back I see that there are ice flakes on my palm. I try to hide my shock, but apparently fail, and she laughs only very slightly. "My skin has a layer of ice on it," she explains, "It is usually… Much colder where I come from."

I look up and see that sadness in her eyes again, but ignore it to ease my curiosity as I stupidly ask: "Are you not from Skyrim?" 

She sighs and turns her head away from me. "No… I come from somewhere farther away. Somewhere colder." She says the last part with a slight venom in her voice, and her lips press into a thin line. She is still staring at the wall when James snores himself loud enough to consciousness. 

He is almost falling off his bed when he looks at me and immediately is confused. "You… Up… Early?" He says and I finally laugh my honest laugh. He turns to look at… Fyll, I suppose to myself, and he raises a brow. "Still here?" He points and I nod. "Damn." He says before falling off his bed completely and startling Fyll to look back at him. 

He is scrambling himself back up when I finally decide to nibble a small piece of bread, taking everything in. I flash forward to if anyone found out if she was here. There are never girls on Japhet's Folly, and if there are, they are mostly likely prisoners or enemy bandits. Clearly she can't stay here I think, and then I have to wonder where she might go. I glance over and see she is looming over my bed, refusing to let her feet touch the ground as she watches James try to get his leg out from his covers. I figure out the only real way to get her out is to just ask her, and for some reason this feels harder than I had thought. She apparently sees me frowning. 

"Is something wrong, Hamish?" She says my name and I am flung back into reality as I meet her slightly worried gaze. I nervously lick my lips again.

"I was just thinking…" I start to say. James thuds on the floor next to me. "You can't stay in this room forever. Or on this island…" 

"Yeah," James interjects, "They'll probably kill you or something." She jumps, frightened and scoots herself back into the corner. I roll my eyes and silently curse James for saying that.

"What he means," I try, "Is that you need to be able to defend yourself. Skyrim has turned very… Unfriendly." 

Her eyes shoot to the floor and I feel like she could burn the hold house down with her gaze. "That does not surprise me," she spits, and I forget slightly that this used to be her home. The guilt is building that I have not told her about her race, but I push it aside. 

"Can you use magic?" I ask somewhat stupidly and she looks at me, well… Stupidly.

"Of course," she defends herself, "I am quite skilled at it." I think back to the ice sphere she was incased in and shrug. 

"Well I want to see what you can do, but we'll have to wait until nightfall," I explain and she plays with the threads coming out of my blanket. 

"So I am to stay in this room until then?" She asks softly and before I can reply James' voice jumps in.

"Yeah, unless your magic can turn you into a dude," he says jokingly, but the expression she gives him is anything but a joke and I kick his calf lightly. He mouths what to me but I just glare, and I think he understands. Well, he does enough to at least shut up.

Dusk takes its merry old little time to get there, and while I wait I spar with the other bandits and practice some archery. Thankfully no one tries to engage in real conversation with me, which leaves my thoughts and I at peace. I decide she will have to learn about her race soon enough, especially if she is going to be out in the world. My mind jokingly considers dunking her into red paint to make her more purple, and it brings a small laugh, but that is all. When there is time to rest I am playing with my fingers, thinking about magic and how I was never able to really harness it at all. I wiggle my fingers around, trying to think of all the things my teachers tried to tell me: focus your energy into your palm, close your eyes and _feel_ the magicka running through you. It never worked, and I curse myself once more for trying. I decide to throw knives at a wall until the night finally comes.

James decides to come with me to get Fyll, and while we walk through the house I make sure to tell him her name. He comments on how strange it sounds, and I also make sure to tell him not to say much around her. He looks slightly offended, but has no time to answer when I creak open our door.

Fyll is sitting on my bed, reading letters my mother had sent. James and I both gasp, and I can feel his gaze burying into my neck. I have to try and contain the anger I feel at her revealing I still had those and I stomp over and snatch them from her hands. She jumps and scrambles before looking up at me. I try to hold back the fury, but she still looks scared when she meets my gaze.

"Don't," is all I say, and I think she understands. 

We say nothing of the letters as we sneak her through the house and finally outside. She is wearing only her dress and a pair of boots while James and I are in numerous layers of fur and still are shivering. She walks so delicately I notice, and perhaps this is because she's afraid of where she is. One of her hands holds a flame, dancing peacefully in her palm to serve as some sort of light even though James has a torch, but I am transfixed by it. Magic is something I will never be able to understand, and I revel in the fact that I am about to really see it happen.

We stop at an outside area where all the bandits practice on dummies and James sets his torch somewhere nearby. Fyll doesn't let her flame go out, but she is clearly studying her surroundings, and I can't read her expression.

"I just want to see you throw a few spells," I explain once more, and she just nods without looking at me. "You know, see your fighting style," I add carefully. 

Her flame suddenly goes out and she looks to me, her expression half hidden by the darkness. "I was not born a fighter," she tells me almost drastically, but I just shrug, waiting for her to throw some ice spells… Or something. She takes the silence as me urging her on, and I watch as she stands directly facing one of the dummies.

She lets her hands stay at her sides as she focuses on one of the dummies, presumably its head I imagine. I make sure to watch her hands as I see ice starting to swirl around them, and there is a cloud of particles that contain it. She lifts them now and stretches her palms, brings them back and… _wham_.

Two tremendously huge ice spikes shoot out and hit the dummy in both of his eyes, and I stare in awe, but she is not done. She brings her hands together and a ball sized cloud of ice forms before she pushes and pulls back, a great surge of powerful ice blasting through and knocking down the dummy completely. She stands back now, brushing a piece of hair beside that had fallen, and breathes in. 

"So," I hear James say behind us, "That was pretty lethal, huh?" My only response is a nod. 

"I did well then, yes?" She quietly asks me, trying to find approval in my gaze. I lick my lips, studying how gracefully she stands, like she didn't just murder a hypothetical man. 

I nod again and decide to ask, "Where did you learn to do that?" In the dark I can see some embarrassed flush reach her cheeks and she meekly shrugs.

"Magic has always come naturally to my people… We are just trained to contain it." She nibbles at her lower lip and her gaze drifts slowly to James. He just stares at her.

To break the silence that was approaching awkward status, I clear my throat and Fyll turns to look at me. "Is magic all you can do?" I ask, and for a moment she looks offended, like her demonstration wasn't enough. The expression changes quickly, and I can tell she is thinking.

"I have used a bow and arrow before," she mumbles and plays with a spare piece of her hair. "But only briefly," she adds, and shoots a look that begs me not to have her use a bow. With curiosity burning at my conscious, I ignore it and nod.

"Archery is good, very good. Can I see you throw a few arrows?" I nibble at my lip and she looks around, her eyes full of unladen curiosity when she finally says: "Where are the bows?"

James is all chuckles behind us, and I make note to glare at him. He gets up after his fit of small laughs is done and reaches behind him for a bow and a couple of arrows. It is only a standard long bow and iron arrows, but I feel like it's enough. Once he tosses them to me (and I catch them) I hand them over to Fyll and she just looks like they're going to bite her hands off. 

She reluctantly takes them and makes sure to only take one arrow as she drops the rest of the quiver to the snow. It lands with a plush soft thud and I see her with the arrow in her mouth. It's terribly threatening, really, the sharp look of concentration in her eyes. She fumbles with the bow itself for only a few mere moments before she is balancing the arrow carefully, aligning it so she has proper aim. I watch intently as she side-steps so she can be in front of a dummy she has not hypothetically killed, and brings the arrow back until the string of the bow is wound tight. 

I try my best not to watch her as she releases, but the target itself. It's harder than I would have given it initially, but once I hear the arrow fly and watch as it hits the dummy… Well, she did say she had only used it briefly. The arrow is wedged into the dummy's lower arm. I can hear James stifling a snort behind him, but that's only because he's an archer by default. I turn back to Fyll, who looks like she is about to cry.

"Better than I could do," is my answer to her, but it doesn't look like it helps her expression.

It's after that that James makes a comment that his hands are going to drop off of him once they're done thawing and I decide that she's proven herself enough. I take the bow from her shaking hands and tell her once more that she was fine, especially in the magical department. She only offers me a small smile as a response. 

The house is quiet when we return, thankfully not having woken anyone up, and we make haste to James and I's room just in case chance hates us. Once safely in the room James makes a dash (or more of a jump) to his bed and shivers into the covers, not having taken his furs off yet. Fyll stands next to me still as I remove my furs and hang them on the wall, and only moves when I do. 

"Remind me never to go out there at night again," James complains through the thick of his covers. He peers his eye over the edge to look at Fyll as he adds, "Good work tonight though, sweet cheeks." I see Fyll flush slightly and smile. "Well I'm going to bed, see you in the morning Hamish." James rolls over and in the span of the thirty seconds of silence, I can hear him snoring already. Lucky for him.

"Well," I say as I fill the silence, "You can go ahead and sleep on my bed, kay?" Fyll is already sitting on my bed when I look at her, but she offers a look of concern. I wave my hand and don't let her respond, "I'll just go sleep downstairs near the fireplace. It's comfy, if you let it."

Her eyes are heavy for a moment. "Oh… Okay then," she says and kicks off her shoes, grabbing at the sheets. "Goodnight, Hamish," I hear her say as I click the door behind me.

I lie a lot. I lie to say I've been on a three day trip when I'm hungry and there are other people ahead of me for the scarce supply of food we normally have. I lie when I fake breaking my leg when it's cold and I don't want to work. I lie when I say I don't miss home every time someone asks me why I'm still reading my mom's letters. I lie when I say this room is comfy and I am able to fall asleep by the fire.

I am poking at the dying fire when it dawns on me that I have to get Fyll out of this place. The thought frustrates me and I don't know why, so I throw another piece of wood to coax the flame. I sit back on my palms and try to think of a plan to get her out, seeing that I can't leave with her. It would be absolute death for me. When I came here, I took an oath saying I swore to these people until I was dead. Part of the oath was never leaving this place unless it was a mission. Then, I was convinced it was the best place for me to be. Now, as I am contemplating setting someone free, my mind is having other thoughts.

There is a creak on the stairs that interrupts me and I swivel my head around. I see Fyll standing there leaning over the railing as she peers down at me. Her hair is slightly a mess and her eyes look heavy with sleep. She creeps down and tip toes over to me before sitting down, letting her hands hover in front of the fire. I watch, the crackling of the burning wood the only thing to comfort the silence, and I see that the frost covering her skin does not melt.

"It doesn't melt," I comment, and she looks at me with tired confusion. I point to her hand and she looks at it like she's never noticed her hands before. "The ice on your skin," I clarify, "It doesn't melt with the heat. Why?"

There is something of a laugh at her lips as she places her hands back in front of the fire. "It's magic," she explains, "Like everything else about my people. When fighting with swords and maces didn't work, we turned to magic. It helps us thrive." 

I swallow. "About your people…" She hums beside me, and the fact that I might actually be telling her they're all extinct grabs at me. I change my mind. "Why did you leave?" 

I can see her frown. "What makes you think I left?" 

"Well, there was no one else with you when I found you," I say, and I can see her shiver. 

"You found me in enclosed ice, no?" She asks, and I can't help but notice she's not looking directly at me. I nod anyways, and I guess she sees it out of the corner of her eye, because she keeps going: "Well maybe you are right then. Maybe I did leave." Her voice gives out and cracks out at the end, and she shivers once more.

I'm not good at talking to people about serious issues. I always say the wrong thing and make them stop the conversation and possibly all future conversations after. I shift in the way I am sitting and try to find the least insulting thing to say. "Why?" Is the best I can manage, and I can tell it wasn't really the right thing to say.

I feel the fire grow, and when I look, I see it dancing strangely, forming itself into what looks like two people. I gasp and clumsily clamber quickly backwards, hearing Fyll laugh lightly. I look now and she is moving her fingers in such an entrancing way, making them dance and twirl and I realise she is controlling the fire herself. Embarrassed, I climb back and sit with my legs crossed, watching as the fire dances and cracks.

"Those letters," Fyll says quietly. "They were from your mother…" I curse under my breath as I remember her holding all the ones I saved. I'm not looking at her (in fact, I'm looking at the other wall completely) when she continues. "You ran away from home. You didn't tell your mother where you were going, but the couriers can find you easily. Yet you don't write back. Each of them is a new level of sadness and hope." I feel my fists clench so tight I think I've broken the skin when Fyll finally whispers, "She misses you greatly."

"So what," I scoff, trying my best not to raise my voice. "Let her miss me, that's what she fucking gets." I can tell I've raised my voice enough to frighten Fyll. She backs away slightly, the fire ceasing its dancing, and we are silent again.

"What did she do?" She whispers, and when I look she is staring at the ground. Her toes have curled with each other and they are wiggling slightly. 

"What makes you think I'll tell you?" There is anger still in my voice, and I try to contain it, but the subject pushes me too hard.

There is a small silence, and then she is looking me straight in the eyes. I can't read her expression at all, but she offers a small: "I don't really."

It is quiet enough that it is the literal opposite of my voice just before. It is delicate and calm; mine was loud and unruly. It is quiet enough that I lower my head. "I'm sorry," I say, and I watch the floor as her feet uncurl themselves. 

"I ran away too, you know," she tells me instead, and I can still feel her gaze on me. Mine stays on the floor. "I ran away because I was scared. I ran away because I felt I wasn't strong enough to stay. I wasn't able to be like the others. So… I ran." When I look at her, her gaze has moved to the fire. "I'm not sure what I was trying to do. My mind only knew fear at that point, and that's all I was driven by."

The fire cracks, and it is a better fitting response than any I feel like I can offer. I look at the fire again. "Then maybe we aren't so different then," I mumble, and when I feel like she is looking at me, I glance too.

"I was trying to get at that, yes," she smiles, and I can feel my heart skip a beat. 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

That night Fyll sleeps next to me, the fire crackling serving as a lullaby. She assures me that she wakes up early enough that she can sneak off before anyone notices her. I fall asleep assured, draping a blanket over her as the two of us lean against the wall. It's a peaceful sleep, and I'm only slightly ticked when I feel a kick to my side the following morning.

My eye slivers open and I see one of the many bandits staring at me. I groan and close my eye again, content to sleep longer, but he seems to have other plans. "Hamish," he says, voice low and almost a growl, "The boss is having a meeting out in the open area near the docks." I frown. Meetings. Not really my thing. " _Hamish_."

My eyes open again. "What? He wouldn't even notice if I wasn't there." I yawn and stretch slightly, positioning myself to get up when the bandit goes on: 

"Well maybe, if he weren't specifically targeting you and your little buddy." I fall. My buddy? Surely he means James… I peer up at him but his expression remains flat. No taunting. No teasing. No poking at me in any way. Just… pure silence. It itches a certain part of me so I finally stand and brush myself off. I peer to my side and notice that Fyll is gone. A sudden spark of panic enters me and I look around the room frantically, my pupils darting between spaces and tables. The bandit is saying something, but I'm caught up in trying to remember if Fyll hid herself already. 

"Yeah, yeah," I say, interrupting whatever he was saying, "I'll be out there, just let me… grab something." I push him aside without looking at him and fly up the stairs, skipping every other step. He calls something to me, but I don't hear it behind the shutting door. 

Thankfully Fyll is there, laying on my bed presumably asleep, but James is no where in the room. I tap my foot - an anxious habit - and gnaw at my lower lip. I step over to where Fyll is and shake her lightly. She peers up at me behind sleepy eyes and slowly sits up. 

"Yes?" She says, rubbing her eyes and visibly holding back a yawn. 

"Where's James?" I ask, trying to hide the worry in my voice. She shrugs. I curse under my breath quietly and I hold one of her shoulders. "Look, there's this big meeting that our uh… Ring leader, I guess, is having, and James and I have to be there. Specifically. I don't know what it's for, but I'm pretty sure it's about us finding you. Just… Stay here, okay?" She looks me directly in the eyes as I tell her this, and follows with a small nod. I squeeze her shoulder tightly before I release my grip and dash out to the docks. 

It's crowded. At least every single bandit is there and I don't bother being polite as I push through them all until I spot the back of James' head. I can hear the boss shouting about something, but I don't pay attention. I tap James and he dramatically turns, something like fear on his face, but it fades when he sees it's me. I step next to him and only now I notice that I am in the front of the crowd. It's an enormous circle around the boss, and he's standing on some sort of box. I swallow and lean into James. 

"What is this all about?" I whisper as quietly as I can. 

James slowly shakes his head without meeting my eyes. "Man, I have no idea. But the boss sent someone to the training grounds to tell me to be here before everyone else. They asked where you were, so I just lied and said the mess hall." 

I laugh lightly. "Thanks for granting me some more sleep," I thank him, squeezing his shoulder. 

He nods, still focused on the boss shouting. "Hamish, I don't like what's going on. Why would the boss suddenly care about us?" I am silent as my lips press into a line. "This can't be good." I opt to not respond and instead I listen to whatever the boss is saying. 

"I'm glad everyone is finally here," he shouts, eyes directly pointed at me. I try my best not to shiver. "Now, normally everything is neat and tidy around here, yes? Well it better be, otherwise all our hard work to keep this gang on top would shatter, no? Good, I'm glad most of you understand that. There is, however, something that has come up that I would like to share…" He steps off his mini box pedestal and circles it now, arms folded behind his back. He has never looked more threatening. "A few nights ago, right around nightfall, there was a report of a strange glowing light out in the Sea of Ghosts. I paid it no mind, thinking some wretched creature was just seizing out there… but no. 

"There was a report of a loud crash, something like a bomb, down by the shore, but it somehow got to me _later_." His gaze pierces somewhere in the crowd, and I'm afraid to look to see the person who presumably delivered him the news… If they were still around. "Now, being a man of business, I went down to the shore to see if everything was in order. I didn't expect to find what I did… And what did I find? Well, that would be none other than a perfect circle of shattered ice… But this was not normal ice. No, this was ice that was harder than stone. And there was a lot of it. 

"Confused, I go to my officials and ask who or what was down there the night before, and I am told two of my precious bandits were at the shore." I can feel my blood freeze. "Now, I ask, what were they doing there? I am told they were punished and sent to dig. Dig? Dig… What? I am told nothing. Well, they found something, yes?" His circling stops and he faces James' and I now, eyes piercing my flesh like daggers. I am trying my best not to collapse in panic as he steps forward ever so slightly. "Well now, don't be shy. Come on out, boys." He's almost cooing at the end and it takes all of my mustered courage not to turn tails and run. I step out slowly, James following behind me, and we are standing in front of what still seems like the entire island. 

The boss is right in front of me now. "Hamish… is it? Tell me what you found down there." His voice is softer, but it still holds enough venom to take down a troll. I swallow down the saliva gathering in my throat. 

"Only useless gems, sir." James' voice comes before mine, and I silently thank him, letting my held in breaths go. 

"And how were these gems useless, hm?" The boss asks, staring James down like he's his prey. Might as well be, I tell myself silently. 

"Fakes, sir. Put into blocks of ice to entice us, I assume." I am taken aback by his sudden intelligence. Then again, he was always the one to coerce subjects into going willingly. 

"I see, and is that all?" 

James nods. "That is all." 

The boss turns to me, hovering over me and I suddenly feel like a small rodent in comparison. "Is that… All?" He asks me. 

"Y-Yes." I answer, and quickly add, "Sir." 

I see contemplation in his eyes as they dart between James and I. He steps back and holds his hands out, not moving his gaze from us as be beckons, "Perhaps I was just overreacting. Perhaps this was all in vain, hm? Very well then." His hands fall and slap against the leather of his armour. "Carry on." The crowd disperses, but even at the end I can feel the venom in his words, and once I am back in the village I dart towards the hut. 

The door swings open almost too easily and I fly up the stairs, not sure where James is behind me. I find the door to our room slightly open, and notice the lock has been busted through. There is new panic settling into my blood when I fling the door open. My panic is supported by the room being torn apart: our beds and their sheets are all over the floor; the drawers are pulled out and dumped; even the floorboards have been pulled up in pursuit of whatever they were searching for. I am running my hands frantically through my hair when I notice that Fyll is no where in the room. 

I hear James behind me and turn, my pupils dilated from all the stress suddenly blown at me. "Fyll isn't here," I blurt out to him before he has a chance to even directly look at me. 

He blinks a few times before answering. "I'm sorry, what?" 

"In the room," I jab a finger into it. "They tore it apart. And Fyll isn't there." I can see the realization settle into his eyes before his mouth falls open slightly. 

I am about to tear the whole damn house apart until I feel a small touch on my shoulder. I fling around, reaching for the dagger kept in my belts, but stop when nothing is behind me. I squint my eyes and reach out, feeling soft, icy skin a few inches in. Pulling my hand back suddenly I whisper, "Fyll?" 

In the torn apart chaos there is a small glow, and then a flutter of smaller dots of floating lights. There is a pause and then I watch as Fyll materialises right there, the cloak of invisibility falling off her in sheets until she is standing in front of me completely, all in tact. She offers only a soft expression that hints at fear. 

"I heard them come in a few minutes after you left," she explains softly. "I thought it was you at first, so I stayed in my bed, but once I heard someone picking the lock I knew something was wrong. It was then that I cast a spell to hide myself, and then three brutish men came bursting through, heavily armed. I… I was terrified. I thought maybe I should run, but I didn't think I could make it past them, so instead I just kept as quiet as I could, hidden in the corner until they left…" 

"Did they say what they were looking for?" I ask, stepping a little more into the room, taking a look around more. She steps aside, shaking her head. 

"They just sounded very angry," she says quietly, and I crack a crooked smile only slightly. I look up to her, eyes darting around looking for any damage. 

"Are you alright?" I ask, and she looks partially taken aback at the question. 

I notice her fists clenching ever so slightly as she answers, "Y-Yes. Of course. I'm just… scared." 

James scoffs in the background, and I notice he is sitting on his bed. "As you should be," he says, and while I want to hit him for saying it, he's right. Gods know what they would have done to her if they found her. I shiver at the thought. "Hamish, we need to get her out of here." His voice is stern, unlike him, and I notice now that he's scared too. 

I swallow more collecting saliva. "I know." 

There is a small silence and suddenly I hear Fyll whimper slightly as she whispers ever so softly, "What's going to happen to me?" 

It's there as I'm standing that my eyes narrow and I bite my lip. I flex my fingers and curl hem into fists as I turn to Fyll and give her the hardest expression I can muster. I step over to her and squeeze her shoulders as I look her intently in the eye. "Nothing is going to happen to you," I firmly assure her. "I swear I will get you out of here alive." 

She looks scared almost at my sudden touch but eases into it. She fidgets under me before nodding. "What about you?" She asks innocently and all I can do is beam down at her. 

"This'll just be some more fun." 

That night the three of us sit in the room with a small candle as we bring up a plan. Skyrim's main land is actually farther out than I had previously thought it turns out, and at first I'm afraid about how we're actually going to get across. Fyll tells me she can use her magic to create a bubble for us to travel in, and while it seems risky it's better than trying to get a boat off the island. I warn her that it won't be easy: the boss always has drones guarding all the exits of the island and there are patrols throughout the night in the camps. We decide that James and I will cover up Fyll as much as we can until we hit the shore. That's when Fyll casts the bubble around us and _bam_. Home free. 

We all sleep that night in anticipation of the coming hours. 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ 

I'm awoken the next morning by one of the bandit guards rolling me off my bed. I hit the ground with an unsatisfying thud and rub my head, looking up at the guard. "What gives?" I ask rudely, and then remember that Fyll must still be in the room. I anxiously shuffle to get up, ignoring whatever the guard was starting to say. Instead I'm looking in the corners of the room for any slight movement, and upon seeing a small wrinkle of fabric in the corner of my bed move ever so slightly I'm calm again. 

"Did'ja hear me?" The guard growls and I turn to him beaming as I shake my head. 

It turns out - as the guard tells me while he pulls me out of the room - that the boss is doing a cavity search of all the cabins. I try to ask why but am given no answer, and once we are outside I'm thrown into the snow. I spit out the small flakes stuck in my mouth as James leans down to me, worry all over his expression. I raise my brow as a silent question and he answers that with a small nod. I can feel my blood freeze momentarily. 

"Hamish," I hear a familiar dark voice hum. I turn to look and low-and-behold, there's boss, glaring down at me. 

I offer a small wave and an even smaller smile. "Hey there," I say, standing as quickly as I can, brushing off the snow on my armour. 

He leans in close (too close for me) and narrows his brow so far I feel like I could cut a steak on it. "Are you hiding something from me, hmm?" He asks, and his breath smells like he just ate undercooked venison. I hide my disgust and silently shake my head, subconsciously gnawing at my bottom lip. "Really?" He says with a mocking tone to it. "Well I guess we'll find out, then." He does an about-face and is off into our cabin and I can feel my pulse quicken. 

"If it's boss searching they'll find her, you know," James whispers to me in the strange silence that's fallen on the group of bandits. 

I nod and clear my throat. "This can't be good," I whisper back. 

We're outside for a good ten minutes when I catch something slip by the open door. I squint my eyes and see small footprints appear from the doorway and to the side of the cabin. A devious smile finds its way to my face as I tap James and point in the direction of the now shuffling footprints and he hides a faint chuckle. 

The boss returns a good few more minutes later, something like frustration now upon his brow. He glares at me like he could kill me and just trudges off without a word. There is an unanimous sigh from the group before it starts to split, all the bandits going their own way. I, of course, make my way to where I can still see shuffling footsteps and stand, leaning against the side of the cabin. 

"It's okay now," I whisper to the footsteps and they respond with a gasp. 

"It was worse," they tell me, "He… The angry man… He almost found me. He grabbed onto my sleeve as I left the room." There is a quiet sob. "I was so scared." 

My expression softens as I go to wrap my arms around the empty space where the body should be to match the footsteps. There is another gasp and then a small shuffle as Fyll adjusts herself in my half-assed hug. I let go and tell her to come back in the cabin, and when I don't see James anywhere I don't think any of it. 

I decide to stay with Fyll for the rest of the day, making excuses every now and again to the other bandits when I break to get food. She is mostly quiet but most of me doesn't blame her. After all, this will be the second time she has run away from an island full of people. The thought makes me sad and I make a mental note to ask her more about her past when we aren't afraid for our lives. When the sun finally sets and I hear the other inhabitants of the cabin retire to their rooms, I gather a few things before turning to Fyll. 

"Ready?" I ask and she gives me the most pathetic nod I've ever seen. 

It's when we're out the cabin with Fyll pressed against my back that I realise James isn't there. I tuck Fyll back against the cabin while I peek around the corner and then a few feet out. Upon not finding him I'm slightly annoyed and resort to quietly calling out his name, wondering where in Oblivion he went. 

I come back after a few minutes of calling to Fyll with a shrug. "He might be at the shore already," I muse and she pathetically nods again. "Hey, don't worry, we'll find him." I softly punch her arm and she offers a smile. And then that smile fades into horror. 

I'm about to ask what's wrong when I hear a low chuckle behind me. "I always wondered what a fortune of gold looked like in person," a raspy voice says and when I turn, the boss is standing right there. I hold in a gasp of fear but can't help but let it go when my eyes land on a bruised and bloodied James, being held by two of the boss's henchmen. I can't help but notice both of them are grinning wildly. "I asked you if you were hiding anything from me, Hamish," he says and steps forward, grabbing my by my hair and pulling my up slightly. "It's no good to lie to me," he whispers in my ear and drops me with a thud into the snow. 

"What do you want?" I spit at him, trying to hide my genuine fear given the situation. My response at first is a low, bellowing laugh. 

"I thought you'd be smarter than that," he coos down at me. "I want - no, I _need_ \- the girl." He takes a step forward and without thinking I take out my dagger. I just get another laugh. "Do you honestly think you can stop me?" 

"Yes," I blurt, without thinking. I can hear Fyll gasp behind me. 

"You have confidence, I'll give you that," he tells me before raising his hand. "I'll give you one more chance to hand over the girl. Do so and I'll give you back your friend, and we'll just pretend this mess never happened." 

I don't dare lower my dagger. "And if I refuse?" 

There's another laugh, followed by a nod, and I watch as a sword is put close enough on James' neck that I can see blood drawn. "It's simple really," the boss goes on to say, "You give me the girl or both of you die. But, if you give her to me right now, I'll only kill your friend. Not a bad deal, eh?" His hand is still raised and I can't help but watch it carefully. 

"N-No deal," James chokes out in the background. My gaze goes from the raised hand to land on James. One of his eyes is full of blood and he can hardly smile, but he does anyways and I can feel my heart twist. The boss has turned his attention to James as well and that's when he winks at me. "I'll be fine, Hamish. Go get her." He coughs up a small amount of blood onto the snow. " _Now_." 

I understand immediately what he was trying to do and thank the Nine Divines over and over as I take no hesitation to jump and slice the boss's turned head. I don't waste time trying to see how deep it ends up being - instead I grab Fyll's sleeve and yell at her to run as fast as she possibly can. We're taking off down the hill when I hear the boss screaming something, but the adrenalin pumping in my head blocks out any coherent words. 

I hear a horn sound and momentarily think of stopping. I hear Fyll cry out behind me and she half trips, falling into my arms as I catch her. "What… What does the horn mean?" She asks me, already out of breath. 

I swallow hard. "That if we're not by the shore in the next minute we're dead." 

She takes the hint and stumbles to gain her stance and yelps as she grabs me now, pulling me out of the way just in time. A flaming ball of coal hits the ground right where I was standing and I can't help but curse loud enough that the entire island hears. I only barely hear her yelling at me to move among the sudden explosions coming our way. I watch as the top of the hill is lined with armed bandits, all pointing their weapons down at us. 

We turn and run. 

It's the fastest I've ran ever in my life, and I find that I'm dodging even more flaming balls of coal than I thought we even had. At one point arrows start to fire and I find myself doing a strange run-dance of trying not to be killed. I make it behind a large boulder only a mile or so from the shore to breathe for a moment and see Fyll isn't right next to me. Shit. I should have been keeping track of her too. 

I jump up and see her face down in the snow, trying her best to get up. There's an arrow right in her back that I can see and I dash to her, ducking at the more arrows being shot down. Thank Gods they have bad aim it seems. I lean down and hear her groaning, cursing in a language I can't figure out. I lift her up and see she's in fact crying, and she looks at me with the most hurt expression on her face. 

"I can't move," she cries out and tears fall harder from her eyes. 

I move my hand to grip the arrow in her back as I nod violently. "Yes, yes you can, okay? You can move, you are _going_ to move, are we are going to get out of here, okay?" She's shaking her head at me and when I hear bandits' shouts getting closer I silently pray and yank the arrow from her back, getting a shrill scream in response. "I'll fix that later," I yell to her as she finally stands. 

A bandit is a mere feet away from Fyll by the time she's fully standing, yelling what I assume would probably be a battle cry of some sort, going to swing his axe into her. I push her aside and barely make bending backwards to avoid the cut, taking out my dagger again and stabbing it into his side as I drag it across, spilling blood all over my gloves and exposed arm. He falls down, shaking and convulsing, and I can hear Fyll screaming at the sight but I elect to ignore it, going back and taking her arm as we continue on. 

I watch as I run behind her, seeing the wound from the arrow. The fact that I don't see much blood is good, but the fact that I don't see much blood could also be terrible - I can't tell at the moment. Almost getting hit by another flaming ball of coal brings me back into real focus and I catch up to her, seeing the docks just a few hundred yards away. I am beaming and whoo-hooing as we approach, but am cut short when a trio of the higher up bandit thugs appear. 

I hear Fyll growl - actually _growl_ \- beside me and watch, as we're still running, a ball of ice forming between her two hands. The bandits haven't moved when we skid in front of them, but they sure are grinning. I'm wondering what they're doing when beside me comes a shrill shriek and I see in the corner of my eye Fyll jumping up slightly as she flies her hands open, letting out a literal ice storm. Ice envelops the bandits so quickly I don't even hear them scream, just watch as their eyes roll back in their heads and they grunt, falling limp onto the ground, ice shards stabbed in all the vital nerve spots. 

"This is the spot, yes?" Fyll pants and I turn to her. Her face is flushed and her bun is slightly undone. I can see her dress is now ripped in not one, but four places, and part of her skin looks burned. She truly looks a wreck. I finally nod to her. 

"Are you ready?" I ask, holding out my hand. 

She nods and takes my hand, squeezing it. Even in all the commotion, her skin is still cold to the touch. We step lightly to the edge of the docks, hearing the approaching bandits hauling down the hill. There's another tight squeeze to my hand as I look up into her eyes. They are glossy, glowing ever so slightly it seems, and when Fyll speaks it's soft, almost like it's floating: "Take in a breath, okay? We're going to jump." 

I nod and see her starting to count to three. I sheath my dagger, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I'm not sure how long I will have to hold it, but the thought escapes when I hear a soft _jump_. My feet are off the ground and I keep my eyes shut as I feel the cold water meet my boots. I feel a sharp breeze hugging tightly around my body like a tornado and it goes faster and faster until it's like I'm caught in a storm. I open my eyes only slightly to look at Fyll, seeing her one free hand dancing in strange patterns as we ever so slowly fall into the water. When we finally fall all the way in, and when I see Fyll's eyes flash open with a bright blue flash, I can swear I feel an arrow tip skimming the top of my head. 

_"We have to find her," he growls. "She's the last damn Falmer and we need her now."_

_"But sir, we have no idea where they went."_

_"Does it matter? They're in Skyrim." There's a light drum of fingers._

_"Track them down."_


	3. Fyll

When I finally feel the edge of land again, it's after what feels like days of walking at the bottom of the Sea of Ghosts. There were arrows that continued to fire at us as we walked, but that was only for a few steps - after that, there wasn't really anything in the sea at all. My hands never kept moving throughout the whole trip, and now they tire easily as I grip the shore, panting when I finally emerge from the waves. Hamish is beside me, his face completely flat on the dirt and I think I can hear him still breathing. He was so surprised at my magic that after it hit him we left his island, he flailed and thought he had stopped breathing. It was quite amusing, I have to say, and I assured him with warm smiles we were quite safe. Despite that, he remained silent the entire way.

I wipe my hair away and laugh a little, and that gets Hamish to lift his head to look at me. His expression is positively hilarious and I laugh even louder. "We made it," I breathe out, and proceed to crawl across the shore. "We actually made it!" I'm ecstatic now, heaving myself to a standing point and I twirl and twirl, flinging droplets of water off myself.

Hamish laughs under his breath and works his way to standing. His hair is wet against his cheeks and his cheeks themselves are tinted every so slightly red. It dawns on me that his skin doesn't have a frost covering like mine, and it _is_ quite cold I notice. I cease my twirling and cock my head to the side. "Are you alright?" I ask, stepping forward to him.

He blinks once or twice before answering me. "Y-Yeah… I just… I didn't ever think I'd leave that island." He turns to face the foggy distance where the island lies and I hear him sigh. "It doesn't feel real," he says with his back still to me.

I'm taken aback slightly by his sudden sadness - I thought he would be as I am, twirling and laughing and being filled with such joy that we accomplished such a great feat. Instead he's standing, facing his prison, and he sounds _sad_. It frustrates me slightly and I try to hide it as I step closer to him, my hand reaching for his shoulder.

"Well we're here, right?" He only nods slightly so I add jokingly: "That's not the first time I've been trapped in a sea for a strained amount of time." 

He flinches at my last statement it seems, yet it it's followed quickly by a small laugh. He turns to me now, a crooked smile on his lips so I return one of my own. "That was really amazing, by the way," he tells me assuringly. "You must be exhausted."

I shrug. "My hands hurt only a little… But that's it." There is a small silence and I'm quick to fill it: "We should find the nearest city, right? It can't be good for you to stay out in this cold."

He laughs at my concern and shakes his head. "While I _am_ actually fine, you're right. We should head into town." As he starts off into the snowy shore I watch him stare into it before I join him.

"You have no idea where to go, do you?" I ask and he sighs so heavily.

"No," he whines and I think he gets mad when I laugh, but I do anyways.

"Well come on, we'll figure it out," I assure him, and because the snow is falling hard enough I can't tell if it's night or day, I make a small fire in my fist. Hamish, after a few minutes, does eventually follow.

It's hard to see through the snow, even with my fire. We walk against icebergs before we see any real land, and even so, it's covered in abundant snow. It's hard to climb it in a dress, and I get behind Hamish while we climb the rather steep hill. Thankfully there is a path once we reach the top, and Hamish decides we go left. I follow beside him, careful to keep my fire where it's of use to him too. The snow perils on, and I'm wondering idly if it's like this all over Skyrim. I remember my father telling me of when our people lived here, and how it snowed almost all through the year. I suppose I don't know anything else, so I focus more on the land. 

There are a lot of mountains. That's the first thing I really notice. All along the path we walk, there is a wall of rock beside us, or at least a few feet away from us. They're impressive, though. I've never really been able to see mountains, and I have a strange urge to climb them all. 

We have been walking for a few hours (silent again, I might add) when we finally reach our first city. Its walls are towering and made completely of stone. I cower against them, walking closer to Hamish. We find the bridge that leads to the doors that will allow us to enter the city and - oh my Gods. The bridge must _at least_ be a mile long. I watch city guards pass us and attempt to even wave to some, but they don't even pay attention to me. 

A guard lets us in the doors, and I bump into Hamish's back as he stares. I let my fire go out as I look around myself: it's still snowing (not as heavily, though) yet there are so many people out. I watch as some surely funny looking people meander about, yelling some of them and some just quietly chatting. I keep seeing these people with almost purple skin and piercing red eyes, and they intrigue me. I walk up to one and look her over, and it takes her a few seconds to notice I'm there. 

"What--" she stutters out, apparently not taking kindly to the fact that I'm staring intently at her. She looks just as surprised as me to see that I look differently to her. Her eyes narrow. "Excuse me," she tells me, "What are you doing?"

"What _are_ you?" I ask honestly, standing on my tip-toes as I stare into her flaming eyes. 

Her mouth hangs open suddenly to perhaps say something, but Hamish is quicker. "She means no harm," he assures her, pulling me back. "She's uh, new around here."

The woman still looks positively livid and decides to voice it. "She asked me _what_ I am!" She yells. I cower behind Hamish now, feeling embarrassed. "I should be asking her! What elf comes up with piercing white hair and skin like that and asks a common Dunmer _what_ they are! By the Eight I am so tired of this racism!" She's making large gestures with her arms and I yelp, still behind Hamish.

He raises his hands. "It's nothing Ma'am, really. She's just uhm… She's well, really, _really_ not from here. We mean nothing by it, I swear." The woman still looks livid, but she growls at us before turning to leave with her other strangely named "Dunmer" friends. When Hamish turns to me he has his eyebrow raised. "Did you really not know she was a Dunmer?"

"No," I yelp. "And why did she find me strange too? First it was you and now her…" I look around and see that when people pass me, they look me up and down as well. "And everyone…" I add quietly. 

Hamish's expression goes flat for a moment before he shakes it off and smiles as he pats my shoulder. "You've been out for a while, everything is gunna be a little strange to you, kay?" Before I even am able to hotly respond he's got a fingertip flung into the air, his eyes now lit up. "I know! We can get a nice bed and something to eat…" He twirls now, somewhat erratically before he stops and shouts _a-ha_ , displaying his arms before a sad looking building in the middle of the town.

"An inn?" I enquire as I slowly walk to where I'm beside him. I see him nod out of the corner of my eye.

There aren't any words after that, just him dragging me into this inn. As we step inside, I am greeted by immediate warmth and it almost melts my skin. I make a point to shuffle where I stand, hoping Hamish sees my discomfort. As he goes to the woman tending the bar, I glance around. It is an old building, I deduce. I run my fingers over the stone, taking note at how strong it still is. The building's scent is something like a must covered up with flowers. It's peculiar, and I have only just read "Candlehearth Hall" when there is a tugging at my arm by who I assume to be Hamish.

"…and this is her," he says as I spin to face the woman. She raises her brow and looks from Hamish and then to me and laughs. I'm immediately offended. 

"Sorry," the woman says (her voice is hoarse), "Her kind isn't allowed to stay here."

"My _kind_?" I yelp and she jumps slightly before settling back down and nodding.

"You're an elf, no?" She puts her palms out questioningly. I nod. "You're poor, right?" I briefly think back to my house and village - they weren't rich nor were they poor. In fact, I was well off. I glance down at my dress, taking note of its quality and how I had many more, but not anymore. So, as much as I wish I don't, I nod. "Then out." She points to the door. "Or I'll get the guards."

"But--" Hamish interjects, but I place a clam hand on his arm.

"I'll be fine," I croak out, now falling into a sadness over my village. I nod to the woman and bow slightly. "May I ask where I can go?"

She snorts. "The Grey Quarter"-there are air quotes made-"As they call it. Just turn left and go all the way down the city and you'll find that piece of shit place."

I elect to ignore her cursing and quietly thank her, pulling the door open and slamming it behind me before Hamish can say anything else. I immediately hear screaming and yelling, and from what I hear I can pick out Hamish's voice. I smile to myself at his attempts to help, but now lost in thought I take a left down the dark alleys of the city.

It's in the cold air (that feels colder now) that I remember truly that I've run away. My feet crunch the snow that's piled on the streets as I walk briskly, but all I can think about is my house and all my books. I sniff. I feel alone. But I don't stop walking. Eventually I turn down a sharp alleyway and see torn red flags and other elves sitting on the streets. Some are drinking - some are crying. I come to a patio that has a sign that reads "New Gnisis Cornerclub" and I decide to open its doors.

There is much commotion when I enter. There are songs being played, fights being fought, and long conversations taking place. I notice everyone is of the elf race, and that there are a lot more than just Falmer. I straighten my back and walk towards who I assume to be the barkeep. He's talking to another woman, this one with the same ash tinted skin, and hardly notices when I walk up. I clear my throat to make my presence known.

He turns, at first annoyed, but then there is surprise on his face. He looks me up and down in the most uncomfortable way before he smiles and pushes a bottle towards me. I ignore it.

"Is there somewhere I can sleep here?" I ask quietly.

He laughs. "Of course pretty lil lady. They kick you out up at Candlerhearth?" He's wiping the counter now, as I have chosen to look at his hands, and it confuses me - the counter is already clean. It must be a habit.

I nod. "I had a friend there, and he was allowed to stay but I… I was thrown out." 

The man shakes his head like he understands and leans over to look at me more. "You sure are a pretty one. Nice dress too, if you can get past the damages." There is a small smile on my face at the last comment. "We're all about stories here, care to share yours?"

I bite my lower lip and think. My mother used to always tell me to never trust anyone… Yet I've put my trust in Hamish and he's saved me. I kick something around on the floor with my toes. "I'd… I'd like to hear your story, sir." My voice holds more confidence than I feel.

The man grins slightly and leans back. "Not one for talkin' are ya?" He waves his hands down like he's motioning a dog to sit as he shakes his head. "Not a problem, always got my story. See, I wasn't always in Skyrim. I once lived in the great land of Morrowind, but left at some point during the Red Year. Such a terrible time, let me tell you. Been stuck here like everyone else, a bloody shame." I listen carefully, and wonder briefly what was so red about the year he's talking about. Instead of asking, I just nod and put in my head to ask Hamish about it later.

"I'm not from here either," I admit, feeling slightly more calm now that I can feel these people are much like me - away from home. 

The man raises his brow. "I had only figured, but where might you hail from?"

"Solstheim." The name feels so foreign coming from my mouth that I think I almost say it wrong from the look on the man's face. 

It's cold. His expression is blank and cold, and I feel like if I were to touch it I'd bring my finger away covered in ice. He turns to tap a man carrying drinks on the shoulder and they exchange words while the one looks at me and then back to the barkeep, and shrugs. When the man turns back to me now, his affect is much lighter and there is a hint of a smile now. I am frustrated by this confusion. I do not understand why they give me such trouble with my appearance, and now where my own village lay in probably ruins. 

"You'd like somewhere to sleep, right?" He's changed the subject completely. I elect to ignore it, so I just nod. "Well I have a nice bed ready for you." He cocks his head and motions for me to follow him, and I do now that I feel more comfortable here, if not still lost.

The bed he gives me is nice enough and I thank him for it, immediately lying down. It's not as soft as the ones I am used to, but I tell myself this isn't home. The sounds from below are still rocking my head as I lay sprawled across the sheets, not even bothering to throw them on. I am tired. Weary. And very, very lost.

Sleep comes to me quicker than I had thought. I only know this because I am standing back on Solstheim and my old friend is with me. He's standing in the town centre, the statue still standing and the water still flowing from the woman's pot. I always wondered why the water didn't just freeze instantly like it did when I cast magic. The true physicality of the world was unknown to me then.

Then… Yes, he's still small. We are still young. He is smiling and showing me around the town centre, the bazaar, the small shops where we eat. It is early enough in the season that the snow is still rough on the ground, the flowers having not found their buds yet on the trees. I run with this boy, my friend, who's name I have forgotten. We run and play and it's happy. Such a happy time. I show him my magic - he shows me his archery. We are rolling down a snowy hill when I fall off my bed in Skyrim.

There is commotion downstairs. I get up warily, realising I never actually went under the covers the previous night. I look down at my disheveled self and realise that my shoes are still on as well. I touch my head - my hair is a wreck. I'm not sure I care. I stand slowly, not sure if I'm fully awake yet, and I hear a familiar shout.

"I'm _not_ here to torment you!" It shouts, with that smooth and calming voice, even in hysterics. Hamish. 

I stumble around the living area I slept in and scurry down the stairs. The barkeep and his assistant that had the drinks the previous night have cornered Hamish by the door. Their arguing is loud enough that I don't believe they even hear me come down. I try to call to him, but my voice is lost in the chaos and I do the only thing I know how - magic.

I know I can't hurt any of them - especially the two elves that don't even know me. So I do what I used to when the elders were annoying me. Telekinesis. It's bound to be rusty but I'm too afraid to go up to them myself so I hover my hands over an empty - what I assume to be - mead bottle. There is a hovering green light covering the bottle, and as I lift my hands the bottle follows. Ecstatic, I giggle, and not surprising it's still unheard. I turn sharply and raise my hands above my head, throwing the force I have around the bottle to right above the door. The bottle smashes right above Hamish and he jumps, ducking as he avoids the falling glass. The other two men follow similarly and I'm afraid I've hurt one of them.

They turn to me now though, and I stand taught with my fists clenched at my sides. Hamish slowly creeps back up to standing and smiles when he sees me. 

"I apologise," I blurt out. "But that is the man I was telling you about last night, sir. He means no harm. He is just here for me."

The barkeep snorts. " _For_ you? What is that supposed to mean?" His assistant snorts beside him.

"I-I mean he's here to protect me." I catch Hamish's expression as it fades into a fearful state. 

The two men frown, but say nothing else about it. The barkeep himself softly apologises as the other goes to sweeping up what I assume to be the previous night's muck. I bow to the barkeep, thanking him for the free bed and I tell him if I ever see him again I'll make it up. He assures me that it's fine, and jokingly wishes me luck in getting back to Solstheim. I can feel Hamish looking down at me as he says it, and as soon as the door clicks behind us I'm preparing myself for questioning. 

"Solstheim, eh?" I am not wrong.

There is a sigh laced into my words, but I don't let it fully come out, "Where I'm from." Before he can say anything I add: "And I don't understand why it's weird. I don't understand why I look weird, or why people comment on me, stare at me, and then look like they don't know where my home land is." I can hear myself diving into hysterics now and I can feel guilt pushing at me for leaving. "That man… He had spoken of Morrowind, and I can hardly remember that name from my books, let alone this 'Red Year' and--"

Hamish has pulled me aside, letting a couple of guards pass. He looks down at me and shakes his head slowly, letting go of my arm. I can't help but notice how warm his hand feels. "You're still tired and stressed. But, since you are somewhat of a… A…" His eyes wander as he chooses his words. "An anomaly, we should get you a cloak. With a hood." I stare into his eyes as he regards me now, and I notice they are a wonderful hazel-yellow. I nod.

"A cloak. Right." 

He guides me through the alleys and out into the entrance of the city, idly speaking of his night, but I find myself not really listening. There is a concern in me now. An itch I can't seem to reach, and it's bugging me. I don't understand all the confusion about Solstheim. I don't see why I'm an anomaly. I let these thoughts consume me until we reach a stall where a woman has an array of products displayed. I notice she's an elf, her skin tinted ever so slightly with yellow; her eyes a deeper shade of her skin.

"Can I interest you in any of my wares?" She asks, and her voice is very assertive and rough around the edges. I notice her dress has many pockets. 

Hamish nods and pokes at a few what look to be rabbits hanging from her stall. "I'm looking for a cloak for my friend here," he says without looking at her. "With a hood, preferably." 

The woman eyes him for a moment and then reaches down underneath. I hear her mutter and then she's emerging with a dark - what I assume to be - cloak. She puts it on the counter and pushes it forward, explaining that it's wool from the goats that wander the wilderness. Free of diseases, she assures us, and says it's 200 "Septims". I'm unaware of the term.

"Right," Hamish mumbles before shoving his hands in the pockets that make up his belt. I watch him digging before his eyes light up and he pulls two beautifully crafted necklaces made from gold. One has what looks like an amethyst and the other has emeralds. The woman's face almost matches mine in both curiosity and awe.

"Where in Oblivion did you get those?" The woman manages after staring. She carefully takes them from Hamish and proceeds to examine them to probably see if they are real. After determining they in fact are, she clears her throat. "One of these alone is worth four-hundred and fifty Septims, you do know that, right?"

Hamish shrugs and offers a smile. "Your lucky day I guess."

The woman slowly nods before she mouths an excited "oh!" and reaches down below her stall once more. She comes up now with a very dangerous looking weapon, black in colour and very heavy from how she's holding it. It barely makes it to her counter-top before she's out of breath and she can hardly push it forward. 

"That should cover at least these two necklaces," she smiles as Hamish takes it, his eyes wide with admiration. 

He lifts it up like it's no problem and holds it to the sun. A smile is growing, and it grows ever wider the longer he fiddles with it. "Such amazing quality," he awes, and fumbles as he mounts it on his back, tying something at his side before he regards the woman again. "Thank you so much, ma'am." 

The woman folds her arms and smiles. "That thing is too heavy for me anyways. You'll put it to good use." She regards me now: "Take the cloak lovely lady. Akatosh be with you both."

I bow to her, smiling as I take the cloak and swing it around my neck. Hamish and I walk away as I'm tying the front to keep it closed, and I fiddle longer with the hood until it's comfortably covering my face. Hamish is talking again but once more I hardly listen. This world is so different than my small village. So busy and full of strangers, where I'm so used to friends and just a small community in general. My lips press into a line before I finally tune into Hamish:

"…and it was weird, cause the guy was just yelling about this Dunmer girl like she wasn't anything at all, and I just can't understand that kind of racism, you know? It got to me so badly that I just went out and punched the guy in the face." There is a soft chuckle. "He really didn't like that and decided that he was gunna fight me… Well, he lost and I got one-hundred Septims from it." He laughs after his story is through once more.

My brows furrow in confusion. "These Septims… What are they?" 

There is another laugh, yet this one is at my expense and I'm hardly amused. "They're our currency. Some people call them gold pieces, but Septims are the preferred. You know, after old Tiber Septim himself."

No. I do not know. I want to tell him this, but instead I nod. We're at the gates once more, and Hamish heaves them open. I walk briskly next to him as we make it down the large bridge yet again. I'm thankful that Hamish has started to talk with a guard passing so that I am alone with my thoughts. I'm not used to having to be around someone so long, and it's relaxing when I can just think. So I do.

I think about how the world has changed from when I first saw Hamish's eyes, wide with confusion and something else as I fell from my prison of ice. I think about waking up again, in the warmth of a bed that wasn't mine, in the company of a stranger. I think about being on that island, not knowing what's happened with my family or the village at all. I think about how I could actually use my magic for something lethal. How I actually ended up killing people with it. By the time I'm done thinking, the guard has led Hamish and I to a nice looking man in leading a carriage, and there are others sitting in the wagon. 

I climb in clumsily after Hamish, settling between him and a scruffy looking man. He's wearing only a rough tunic and torn pants, seemingly not bothered in the slightest by the impending cold. Beside me, in contrast, Hamish is shivering, and I think to offer him my cloak before I remember I'm supposedly peculiar. As the last person gets in, the man steering the carriage announces that we'll be departing now. For some reason it doesn't occur to me to ask where we are going, possibly because I wouldn't know anyway.

I stay quiet as Hamish chats up with some of the other people seated. The carriage doesn't feel very stable to me and shakes often, and I jump ever so slightly as we turn a corner somewhat sharply. A fast horse, I note. Strong too. I shuffle my feet and pull my cloak closer around me. It's strange, sitting somewhere so far from home. I wonder how mother is doing. If she's doing anything at all. I think to whisper something of it to Hamish when I catch something one the men is saying.

"…and they say Ulfric is starting to stir up all the spirits of the Nords," the man finishes just as I hear him. He sounds impervious about the whole idea really.

"Nords?" I chime in suddenly, slightly surprising the man. He's seated right across from me and he looks at me as if he never knew I was there. "My mother tells me that they are rough people, unruly she says."

The man looks offended. "Unruly? Why, we are just proud people is all."

"She tells me you people don't give up easily," I add and see Hamish cringe beside me.

The woman next to him speaks now: "Give up on what exactly? Our freedom and will?"

I shake my head in confusion. "But it was your people that declared war with mine, was it not?"

Hamish gasps next to me, but I don't look at him. The carriage has gotten silent now, and even the driver seems to be listening by the way he is cocking his head. I sit proudly and straight, not seeing any fault in my words. The presumably Nord man and woman are giving me the strangest looks, much like the face Hamish's friend had given me.

"You… Are you one of those damn High Elves?" The man starts slowly, his eyes turning to slits as his sentence ends.

"They are the Thalmor now, remember dear," the woman scoffs in a harsh, demeaning tone.

I shuffle uncomfortably where I'm seated. "I do not know what High Elves you speak of." I see out of the corner of my eye Hamish waving his hands erratically but I ignore them, "I am a Snow Elf."

I hear a unanimous gasp from the other silent patrons on the carriage. I resume sitting straight as the man's eyes practically fall out of his head he's staring at me so hard. The woman is covering her mouth, whispering something to the person opposite to her. I look around, confusion prominent in my mind as whispers erupt, beyond my hearing. I turn to Hamish and he looks absolutely pale, as if he's seen a ghost. There is something else in his expression, but I am unable to read it.

"A… Falmer?" The woman finally says, suddenly much more quiet.

I nod immediately. "We accept both, yes."

Looks are exchanging again, slower this time I think. I open my mouth to speak, but Hamish interjects emphatically: "Right! So! You were saying something about this Ulfric dude? Sounds pretty hardcore, eh?"

But the Nord couple does not even listen. They stare at me more and scan their eyes all over me. I suddenly feel like I'm not wearing enough clothing and move to cover my dress completely with my cloak. I keep a neutral expression, not wanting to show my increasing levels of vexation. 

"I knew her skin was too pale," the woman whispers loud enough for me to hear.

"And eyes too blue," the man agrees. There is a pause, and then, "Where did you say you were from?"

I pause myself, recalling all the numerous confusions from various people at my origin. I think perhaps I shouldn't say, but instead I whisper out a barely audible, "Solstheim." 

There is no gasp this time, but their expressions change dramatically. Frustratingly I cannot read their expressions again. I feel like stamping my feet. Ripping off my cloak and just asking what is wrong with me, why everyone seems to not know of Solstheim, or mocks it. I want to tell these Nords that Skryim was my people's homeland anyways, but we were driven out by their people. I feel as if there is something obvious that I don't know, some key point I am missing and it is driving me near mad. I rub my lips together, trying to contain myself from doing all of the above.

The carriage conveniently comes to a stop now. There is a strange feeling of relief coming off all the people, and I notice as the Nord couple scrambles out as quickly as possible. I think of hurling an ice spike at them, but decide against it. Standing, I make my way out of the carriage myself, noting that my feet touch green instead of more snow. It is a strange sight, and I turn to Hamish once he is safely on the ground himself.

"It doesn't just snow here?" I ask.

He laughs under a still uncomfortable expression, looking relieved himself that the ride is over. "No, there are actually a lot of places where it doesn't snow, but it still can get miserably cold."

I nod slowly, taking in the new environment. It is bright, very bright, and the sun shines harshly on my skin. I see farms with windmills and crops; hard working people in the fields. There are mountains in the distance, and when I turn I am greeted by tall city walls. I gasp, not used to such big cities. They just never got that big on Solsthiem. Hamish comes to stand next to me, his hands on either of his hips as he nods.

"This, if I recall, is Whiterun. Been a while since I've been here." He says the last bit with a hint of remorse, and I remember he fled from home too, condemned on an island.

"I suppose we should go inside, then," I say, not really as a question nor a statement, but more of a wandering thought.

He nods, and we start for the gate. It is not a long walk there by any means, and when we push through it is obvious the city is bustling. There are people about everywhere, all busy with their own lives. Some are conversing with one another, but for the most part the people keep to themselves. We start to wander, neither of us sure why we are here really or where we are going. I follow Hamish as he leads, bobbing himself around the houses. 

"Looking for something?" I ask when he stops directly in front of the fourth house in a row.

He shrugs without looking at me. "I used to have family here, I was just wondering if they still were. I don't see their house, though."

I step closer to him, wishing to give some sort of comfort. "It's a big city by the looks of it. Perhaps they just moved."

"Maybe," he says, and that's the end of that conversation.

I follow him again as an unfamiliar silence falls between us. I watch as he weaves in and out of people, apologising if he happens to maybe bump too hard. At one point he helps a small child find her mother and it warms my heart. As I watch him wander about I think that I want to know him. I want to know his past and all of his deepest fears. I want to know what makes him smile and how he does so behind hurt. As I follow him into another tavern it dawns on me that there is something, somewhere inside him, that makes me think he was meant to be the one to find me.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Inside the tavern I find nothing of entertainment. Hamish has taken to listening to the bard while he drinks something I assume to be mead. He looks happy, though, so I don't mind. I just watch, sipping the small glass of water I request. I keep my cloak on, fearful of what people are going to say, and also because I do certainly look different from all the other people around. I watch the people in the tavern closely: there is a woman sitting on a man's lap in the corner, and I believe they are kissing. Touching romantically anyways. There is a group of what look like warriors on a bench near the fire pit in the middle of the tavern - they seem to be sharing stories of battle, judging by their scars, armour, and way they move their hands. Then there's Hamish, singing with the male bard as what look like just normal townsfolk gather, waving their arms, hands grasping their mugs of mead. 

It's a lovely place, really, and I find myself swaying with the songs. Hamish comes back over to sit with me (out of politeness I think) and a man follows as they talk over the loudness of the room. I sip at my water, catching a glance at the man. He is rugged looking and wears heavy armour, engraved at the shoulders. It's quite beautiful I note, and catch sight of the very large sword hanging on his back. It looks similar to what Hamish is carrying but it still frightens me slightly.

The man notices. "Oh, is my weapon bothering you?" His voice is surprisingly soft for such a frightening statue. 

Hamish eyes me like he's not sure either and I shake my head quickly. "N-No, it's just not something I usually see." My voice feels so small.

The man chuckles. "It is rather rare for a warrior to be walking around I guess."

Hamish chips in, "Not for me. All I ever see." The two men laugh and I don't understand.

I feel slightly offended. "I'm used to bows and arrows plenty, just never weapons quite that big." 

"Oh? You ever shoot a bow?" The man looks intrigued now.

I bite my lower lip. "You could say… But… I'm not very good." 

There is another laugh from the man and I glare through my hood. "All it takes is a bit of practice, you'll be fine."

I leave the conversation at this point in favour of what looks like a small group of people listening to a man (another warrior it seems) talk. He is waving his hands around erratically, and seems to be very into whatever story he is sharing. I hear Hamish and the other man continuing their talk, but leave it to go over to the circle that's developed. I squeeze in on one of the benches just barely as the man speaks on.

"And there it was, far to the east, a cave as dark as one would ever be, strange shells on sticks outside. My shield brothers and I stare, unaware of what lies ahead of us," he strokes his beard to think. "The cave itself didn't seem so bad. Nothing really there that surely could have killed this man and his entire camp. But then there's a shuffle in the dark. I raise my sword and shield, nodding to my brothers to take caution. There isn't much, but in the light that there was, I see something run past, hunched over. I'm thinking, what in Oblivion…? And then it flies out--" - there is a burst of his arms out - "--this wretched creature, half nude, no language at all, shrieking as its dagger dripping with poison comes down on me. Thank the Gods his dagger hits my shield and I'm able to throw him off, my brother coming in to cut him while he's down.

"Once the beast is dead, we stand over him. His eyes aren't even there, his nose that of a skull, and his teeth are pointed and uneven. But… But, if there was something we could not mistake, it was the colour of its skin."

A girl gasps and asks quietly, "What was it?"

The man grins now. Wickedly. Almost as if this beast personally wronged in some way. "None other than a Falmer."

There is a unanimous gasp through the crowd, but my lips press into a line. There are hushed whispers and wide eyes are everywhere. I turn my head slightly to where Hamish is still talking to the other warrior. He is oblivious to the discussion at hand it seems, but I want to ask him about all this. It occurs to me, though, that I don't have to. There is a man here that won't make side eyes at me and change the subject. I have had this feeling that Hamish is hiding something from me, and now I can have real answers.

"What do you mean a Falmer?" I ask, my voice sounding far away from me.

The man looks to me and is visibly taken aback slightly from my hooded presence. He smirks shortly after however, keen to answer my question: "A twisted race, m'dear. Or at least that's what the legends say, no one really seems to know for sure."

My heart stops, I swear. My mouth opens and closes momentarily, as I am lost for words. "I'm…. I'm confused, you say they are twisted? Legends?"

The man nods and for some reason also shakes his head after. "You must not really go into history much, eh? Or travel, I'd guess. There is a tale of the race of the Snow Elves, hailing from I believe originally here. Not much is known of their demise, at least not much that I know. All I know about them is from hearing from fellow adventurers. They told me they went extinct, except what really happened is… Well… No one knows that part."

His explanation does nothing for me and I am frustrated. "But if they went extinct, how did you come across one?" 

There is a shrug. "That's the mystery. No one knows."

I stand abruptly, stumbling slightly in my awe. I almost trip backwards from the bench and bring a hand to my face. Hamish notices now, as does the rest of the tavern. I begin to get tunnel vision as well as hearing, and can hear the man trying to ask if I'm okay but it's muffled. I think Hamish comes over now, asking something of the same sort, but I can't even think right now. There is so much dawning on me, things I don't understand, and all I want to do is run. 

In fact, that is exactly what I do. 

I push past all the people, knocking someone's cup out of their hand. They curse me I think, but I don't even know what sounds are which at the moment. I hear a faint yell from Hamish but I ignore it. I'm scared. I'm lost. I don't know where I'm running, but it doesn't matter. I am alone.

I run through the streets as fast as I can, picking up my dress so I don't fall. I see people turning their heads to look at me, confusion and concern on their faces. A guard briefly follows me but loses me in the crowds. I push the gates open as hard and as fast as I can. I don't even bother to follow the path through the second gate; I just jump down the ledge and roll as I meet the ground - something I learned in agility training. I make it out to the stables, almost out of breath. I'm out. But where am I? I don't even know. It would be impractical - no, impossible - for me to run across this land. I face the only horse I see.

I run to it with the same speed as before and jump on messily. I almost fall off again, but grab the reins fast enough to regain my balance. I see out of the corner of my eye a man stumbling off his stool from where he was reading to try and stop me. It occurs to me only momentarily that this might be illegal, but I don't care. I need to ride. I need to get answers. I don't even know from where. There has to be some. There has to be an explanation.

I kick the sides of the horse and yell a "hi-yah" for him to get going, and he does. I tap his sides again to go faster, and as I pass the stone arch that leads to the city, I see Hamish stop and yell for me. I don't hear him. 

I ride in what I assume to be east judging by the sun. That's what the man said, right? A cave to the east with strange shells outside of it. That's what I have to find. I have to find where my people are now. Surely they only attacked because those men were foreign. But the way he described them… that can't be my people. It just can't. I can feel tears form in my eyes, but the wind slapping me constantly in the face dries them away. 

I pass by towns and caravans and patrols of what I assume to be guards. They all jump out of my way hastily, and I even jump over an entire carriage at one point. They all call after me, whether in anger or concern I don't know. I don't have time to explain or say sorry. I feel like all my time is out already anyways. I can feel my heart beat violently in my chest as I ride on, and I think I only notice now that my hood has come off. I'm probably moving too fast for anyone to notice anyways. 

After hours of riding I come across mountains far enough to the east to be where I should find these caves. I slow my horse down, comforting him for being such a loyal steed. I let him eat the grapes off a tree before speeding up slightly when I don't see any caves for a few miles. 

After I make a decision to cross one of the many rivers in the valleys I finally see in the distance a large opening that suspiciously resembles a cave. I gallop to its entrance, and sure enough there are shells outside of it. This must be it. It has to be. I almost fall off the horse in my not so graceful dismount, tripping over my own feet slightly as I creep to the cave's opening. It looks deep and definitely dark. I peer behind me to make sure nothing is watching. I almost think about turning around and just going back to Hamish, but my strong need for real answers pushes me on. With a deep breath I enter the cave.

Thankfully the tight tunnels are illuminated by strange mushrooms, and I watch my feet as I carefully traverse them. Eventually the tightness is relieved by an open room hidden farther in. I straighten myself up and walk quietly through, glancing up at the opening that is letting some light in. When I am almost to the other side of the room, I see something out of the corner of my eye dart by. I swiftly turn, but it is gone. There is another hurried noise behind me and I jump and turn, but nothing is there again. I swallow hard and decide to call out.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Unsurprisingly I get no answer. 

Okay… I start to walk again, noticing another entrance to what I assume to be more tunnels. Once again, when I am almost to it, movement darts in my vision. I jump again, but this time I see what is moving. Or at least part of it. Something crouched - and apparently very fast - enters the tunnel. I realise this is my chance. With widened eyes, I dash after it.

"Wait!" I call out, "I need to speak with you!" It seems to not have heard me, and now my only chance seems to run after it. And I do. Fast. Faster than I thought I could go. 

The tunnels dissolve into more unpleasant tightness, but are also lighted by the mushrooms. I'm running fast enough that I see this blur's feet as it turns all the corners flawlessly with me, rather, bumping off all the rocks and tripping over roots. This spur of tunnels seems longer than the previous ones, and I feel like I'm almost at my limit when I finally see the possible end. I pick up my pace as much as I can, getting almost to the point where I can touch the now not so blurry mystery creature. 

It turns out, though, that right outside these tunnels are a cliff, and I fall down hard as I skid across the dirt to not fall off. My feet dangle off and my bum sits directly on the edge. I finally catch my breath, panting hard as I try to figure out where my specimen has gone. I gather myself enough to stand and brush off my dress, looking around to see where I am. It's another opening - a large one. There seems to be an almost settlement beneath the cliffs: there are tents and small fires scattered throughout. So obviously someone lives here. Perhaps my race isn't extinct…

A strong hissing breaks my thinking and I turn quickly to where it comes from. My eyes widen at the sight before me. There is a hunched over creature with what looks like no eyes at all, or if they are there, they are sunken far into its face. Its teeth are sharp and uneven, like some have grown over each other crookedly and repeatedly. Its claws - not even fingers - hold a dagger as it approaches me, nothing covering its torso. There is a rag dangling off its frail hips, and there are spare pieces of cloth wrapped around its equally skinny legs. As I back up from it I see its feet have claw like toes as well, and well, the thing is in all, terrifying. 

We continue the pattern of it approaching and me backing up as I try to speak with it: "I… I come from Solstheim. I am a Falmer, or I suppose a Snow Elf." It hisses at me again, baring its teeth. I cringe, but go on: "I know you must be scared, but I need to talk to you. I have questions." There is another sharp hiss as it brings its dagger up. I back up enough to where I bump against a wall. I can feel my legs tremble against each other as I raise my hands up. "P-Please, I have no weapons. I mean no harm… I… You are my only source of answers." 

It advances more, baring its teeth but no sounds are coming out. I am trapped. My jaw starts to gyrate in fear and I feel more tears coming to my eyes. This time there is no wind to dry them away. It gets close enough that it draws back its dagger to strike and I am sure this is where my life ends. 

"Fyll!" There is not far away scream and I immediately recognise it as Hamish. 

"Hamish!" I yell back, my voice cracking. 

The creature before me - obviously not a Snow Elf like me - hisses louder than it has in my time hearing it and turns to face the tunnels where Hamish now emerges. It bares its teeth as it jumps backwards and draws back its shoulders to make a deafening sound. Hamish unsheathes his great sword from behind him and goes into a fighting stance. Thinking its distracted by Hamish enough to ignore me, I let my defense down. This is not a good idea apparently. It turns back to me and lunges forth with its weapon, and I screech, falling down to the ground in time enough to where it just barely misses. It goes to try again, but Hamish comes up and slices its side, deeply, as blood starts to drain in copious amounts onto the dirt. 

In its distraction to its wound - from where it makes another deafening, obviously in pain sound - I take the initiative to kick at its now unstable feet, making it fall to the ground. It drops the dagger and writhes as it tries to stand again, but Hamish's sword comes down and thrusts right into its chest, blood spurting up and getting onto Hamish's face and hands. It twitches as Hamish pulls his sword out before finally convulsing and then going limp. 

Hamish is panting when I look up, and I just now realise there are tears pouring down my cheeks. He turns his head to look at me, and sure enough there are little droplets of blood on his cheeks. There is a silence between us as I (and I assume him) take in the recent event. I feel I am still unable to stand, so instead I just stay where I am, my entire body still managing to shake.

"I suppose the cat is out the bag, huh?" Hamish finally says, making a note to not put his sword away. My only response is a half nod. Hamish sighs and rubs his eyes. "I suppose it was idiotic of me to try and keep this from you for so long. I was stupid enough to think the truth would never have to come out."

I speak now, my voice small: "And what is the truth?" I look to the ground.

There is another sigh, but I don't see his face. "Your race… Is gone."

I think I choke slightly. "G-Gone?" My gaze is still at the ground.

"They… They were wiped out. They changed in time. There is no such thing as a normal Snow Elf anymore." His voice is quieter than I have known. 

"You mean…" I look up to him now.

He shakes his head. "They're all gone."

All gone. _They're all gone._ All. Gone.

My eyes glance to the… Old Falmer, now dead. I curl my knees up to my chest. I grab the sides of my head as I begin to shake. Slightly at first, but gradually they become harder. More violent. I think I'm crying more, but I make no sounds. My heart seems to forget how to beat. My throat is dry like I haven't drank anything in days. I think this is what they call shock. I think this is fear. This is finding out you are the only one left of your race. 

Hamish sits next to me for however long it takes for the sobs to simmer down into little guttural whimpers. I don't know how long it's been and I'm too numb to ask, I just lift my head from where it rests in my arms. When I turn my head to look at him his expression is unreadable to me. Where that would normally make me nervous, I find that I don't care. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask instead.

He offers a small shrug. "I was stupid enough to think you'd never find out."

I nod, unsure why, and turn away from him again. I look into the darkness of the cave for comfort as I choose my words: "How?"

I feel him move beside me. "How…?" His tone is of confusion. 

"How did my race turn into… that," I point to the body before us. 

He swallows. "That's the thing. No one really knows. Your race… Your existence, is a compete mystery."

"A mystery," I repeat, my voice void of any emotion. I tap my fingers against my knees. "Does anyone even know I existed at all?"

Hamish shakes his head. "People only tie you to myths. Legends. If anyone thought you were real, that notion is long gone. Most people… Most people have never even heard of Falmer."

"Snow Elf," I correct him. I see from the corner of my eye that his eyebrows raise. "That vile thing is a Falmer. I am a Snow Elf."

He nods like he understands. "I've heard that some people, mostly mages, pursue finding out what you were. They say that your control with magic was outstanding."

I turn to him again. "Is there not a mage that you know? Perhaps I can speak to them."

He shrugs. "I really haven't been over here in years. Well, not strictly speaking. I would do raids here and sometimes I would find mages, but I never really got to uhm. Chat with them really."

I pull my knees tighter to my chest. "That is my only chance," I whisper. I feel myself start to tremble again and breathe deeply to try and stop it. It works only marginally. "That's my only chance," I repeat, my voice finding some strength. "I need to find a mage. Mages, even. I need to know what happened to my people."

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

I find the strength to leave the cave, limping slightly along with Hamish as we traverse the tunnels. I notice that my dress is ripped in places and my hair has almost completely fallen out of its bun. I don't care. My only focus is walking forward. Once we break into Skyrim again, Hamish lets me go. The horse I rode, and presumably the one next to it Hamish did, are still outside when we come out. I go to lean against mine as Hamish reassembles himself. The breeze touches my skin softly and while I want it to comfort me, it doesn't. I realise I am still numb and look over to where Hamish watches me now, a careful expression carved into his face.

"You're worried about me," I deduce. He nods. "I'm fine, I think. At least I'm going to be."

His lips rub together before pressing into a line. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

I think the sound that comes out of me is a laugh. A small, torment filled, almost stoic laugh. "Unless you helped undermine my race, then you have nothing to be sorry about."

He walks towards me as he speaks: "But I should have told you sooner. I shouldn't have thought it wouldn't matter, or you would never find out. From the moment I realised just what you were, I should have told you."

I think for a moment. "And how exactly did you realise what I was?" 

"I read books," he says on a choke. "There was a library far in the main building of the camps and I looked there." 

"So there are books on it, then? On my people?" I can feel my pulse quicken as thoughts pour into my head.

Hamish nods halfheartedly. "There are probably only two that I can think of, and they're not very specific. Might not even be accurate, I have no idea."

I sink myself against the horse. He stumbles and neighs in discomfort. I stare at the sky and notice clouds forming. "We better find a town or some form of shelter," I say, knowing I'm changing the subject. Survival. That's what counts here, now, I tell myself. 

Hamish looks around as he nods, "I think there's at least a small town near here." He sends a nod towards the horse I'm leaning on. "You sure you want to take that horse? Since you did kinda, you know, steal it…"

I lean my head back and look up at my stolen steed. "I think he'll manage."

We ride along marked roads with helpful signs in mostly silence. I catch Hamish glancing over at me every time I sniff, like he thinks I'm going to cry again. In truth, I'm not sure why I haven't. I cried the one time, sobbed even, for hours, but now tears don't come. I remind myself the information I only just found out and use that as a means to my silence and lack of tears. I can still practically feel the tension between us, though, as we ride on. I want to remind him none of it is his fault, but I stay quiet instead. Sometimes my thoughts are the only thing I need. 

I don't know how long it takes, but we arrive in a small town nested in small valley. There are only about four buildings, I observe, but there are a fair amount of people. I notice then that a lot of them have pickaxes at their sides and are carrying ores. A mining town, I think as I dismount my horse. 

"A mining town," Hamish echoes my thoughts almost on cue. 

"I wonder if there's somewhere we can sleep," I ponder aloud, looking back up to the cloudy sky.

"Let's find out," Hamish says and starts forward. I briskly walk to keep up with him as we enter the town, weaving around most of the people. They all look busy, so we opt to wait and ask someone who looks less like they're in the middle of something. Eventually we come to one of the buildings and there is a man leaning against them, dressed too formally to be a miner.

"Excuse me," Hamish says as we meet him, "But we just happened in this town and was wondering if there's somewhere we can stay?"

The man says nothing at first and instead looks to me with confusion. I realise that I don't have my hood on anymore, but I don't lift it up. Not now. I shift my shoulders to stand straighter and look him in the eye, lifting my eyebrow. 

The man collects himself. "Well - well, we are happy to have you. Unfortunately, we don't really have much in Inns or anything of the sort, but you're welcome to stay on some of the spare cots we have in the miner's barracks." He points to the building beside us and offers a smile.

It works, and I find myself sitting on a slightly dirty cot in a somewhat cramped building. I'm lucky enough to get a bed next to a window, and look out. The town is quieting down with the setting sun and I see people working hurriedly to get to their houses. It has started to rain and I watch that too, remembering that rain was something of an oddity back at home. It is from exhaustion and my thoughts of home that I fall asleep perched on the window sill.

_"Fyll," a voice calls to me. "Fyll, are you okay?"_

_I blink, unaware of where I am and sit up slowly. He is with me, looking down with concern all over him. I sit up, painfully, and nod. I look ahead of me and see a group of teachers looking down, concern with them too._

_"Please, I am fine," I say, "Just an accident." I had just tried to cast a powerful frost spell, not knowing it was far ahead of my skill. I stand now, shaking slightly as he comes to help me. I salute quickly, putting my hand at my side in an effort to stand better._

_He takes me to a small tavern in our village to get something better to eat and I scarf down the soup that's offered. He's laughing at me but I just make a face - magic is exhausting, and therefore makes me entirely too hungry._

_"I was thinking, Fyll," he says as I eat, "You should try and compete in some fights. I mean, some of those people even get to go help fight in the war."_

_I shrug, taking a break from my food. "You know they never let women join the forces. And even if they did, you know I don't like to think about that."_

_"I know, I know," he says, poking at his food, "But imagine actually being beside the Snow Prince. Imagine meeting him and his whole family, all of that. There wouldn't be anything better."_

_I roll my eyes and jab my spoon in his face. "Living is definitely better. I definitely prefer living over fighting next to the prince."_

_He laughs, pushing my spoon away. "I'm serious. We haven't seen the Snow Prince since he left for this war, and I'm thinking maybe he won't come back."_

_I scoff. "Please, you know what that would mean. Of course he's going to come back, he has to."_

_He nods, a smile forming again. "You're right, Fyll. Of course he'll be coming back. We would all probably die without him, right?"_

_"Right, now come and eat, you haven't touched your food." I tease as I gleefully take another spoonful of soup._

I awake to a wetness running down the length of my neck. I blink, for a moment unsure of where I am, before I slowly sit myself up and see the dark circle covering most of my pillow. There is a small sigh as I push my hair behind my ear.

"You were crying in your sleep," I hear someone say behind me. I know the voice.

I turn my head to see Hamish sitting on the side of a bed in front of me. He is picking off pieces of bread and messily tossing them into his mouth. I can't help but notice the crumbs that don't make it in. There are a lot.

"You were watching me," I say calmly, twisting my body to hang my legs off the bed.

Hamish shrugs. "I prefer to call it observing," he replies. There is a small pause where I see his expression shrink down. "You were doing it almost all night."

He holds out another piece of bread and as I take it, I reply: "You didn't try to wake me?"

He's chewing as he nods. "I did once, but you just gasped and cried harder. I felt like it was better if I just left you alone." I tear off a small piece of my bread as silence envelops us again. "What were you dreaming about?"

I swallow. "Home."

We don't take long to finish our breakfast, and I finally let my hair out of its bun completely. It is a strange feeling when my hair hits the back of my neck - it reminds me of when I was younger. I tug on my cloak for good measure, and for something to grip when I get nervous. Hamish talks with the man who let us stay and discusses what I assume to be somewhere to go. I'm only half listening and half paying attention rather to the bustling of the town so early in the morning. I recall only briefly the hustle in my own town and how I would wander around in it, watching people with the utmost of fascination. The thought fades as fast as it comes.

"Well he told me about a city not far from here," Hamish tells me as he bobs over. "He says it's called Markarth, and that there is even a high ranking mage there."

My eyes widen as I whip my head around to face him. "Did he say anything else about him?"

"Well, he said he actually does research specially in the Falmer…. The guy was sort of taken aback at some of my questions, but I figured it couldn't hurt. Says the city is pretty too." 

My lips press into a nervous line. "We have to go."

Hamish smiles softly, "I know."

The man sets us off with our horses and, thoughtfully, some supplies. He says his name is Ainethach, and that we are welcome any time. I make sure to store his name away in case we need him later, and bow lightly before I hop onto my horse. I can feel his gaze burn into my back as we walk the trail leading out of the town, and it only disappears when we turn the corner. There is a feeling as if he wanted to ask me something, something about my appearance, but I'm almost glad he didn't. After all, I don't have many answers. 

It starts to rain lightly on our way east and I find myself pulling up my hood. Slightly ahead of me Hamish curses and grabs a bag to hover over his head. It brings a small giggle out of me, and a welcoming smile from him in return. I take my time to wonder more about Hamish, like where he came from and what brought him to that awful island. He spoke of his mother and family, and I wonder what they are like. 

Hamish starts to idly chat as we make our way there, but I'm only half listening. I pay more attention to the way he tugs at his braid when he talks, and how his dimples indent whenever he smiles. He seems to smile a lot, but they almost seem forced. I notice too that he has quite the yellow eyes, as if they aren't real. I hear something about hating cats when we stumble upon a stranded (as it seems) hut.

There are two bodies of people dressed loosely in animals skins. There is one more on the porch, this one seems to be a normal person, gripping a dagger. Needless to say, they are all dead. My horse stampers as I look around. Hamish hasn't said anything. I find myself not going into hysterics as I felt I would have once have. Instead I feel like I'm lucky it wasn't me. It's a terrifying thought, to be so comfortable in seeing someone dead. 

"We should move on," Hamish mutters. I silently agree.

It isn't long before we reach the presumed Markarth. Outside there are various towers built entirely of stone, and I see a farm to the left. I can't help but gape up at the tremendous stone wall that holds the gates to the city. Everything is in stone. The doors are completely made of what looks like copper. Hamish is lost for words as well it seems. 

I raise my brow. "You've never been here before?"

He shakes his head, still looking at the structures. "We could never make it to this part of the country. Too many Forsworn."

"Forsworn…?" 

He turns to look at me now as our horses reach the steps. "Those dead people we saw back there. They're glorified murderers really. They controlled this area for years."

I nod, "I see."

A guard stops us at the bottom of the stairs. He says we need to stable our horses, and that someone will speak with us at the gates. As I walk past, he grabs my shoulder and swings me around. Hamish jumps for his weapon but I remain stiff. I can see past the mask he wears at eyes glaring down at me. I am not normal to him, therefore I am a threat. I make no movements. No sounds. He lets me go.

At the gates it happens again.

"You, who are you?" The question is directed at the both of us.

"Just comin' to town," Hamish replies, but it doesn't amuse the guards.

"We don't like newcomers here. Especially those dressed as bandits and…" He stops to look me over. "…Freaks."

I can feel Hamish tense next to me but it fades before the guards sense it too. He holds up his hands, "Please, we aren't going to steal anything or be uh… Freaky."

"Then give us your weapon," the guard says, pointing his own at Hamish's chest.

"What? That's my only means of defense, moron. Why would I give that up?" Hamish almost shouts.

The guards pushes forwards slightly, making Hamish step back in response. "What do you need to defend yourself against, hmm?"

Hamish's hands turn into fists and he gnaws his lower lip. Before he can say anything else, I touch his wrist softly. "Just give him your sword, we can get it back," I whisper into his ear. "This is our only way of getting in."

Immediately Hamish lowers his shoulders and, in turn, his hands. When he goes to reach behind him for his sword, the guard draws his weapon back. I can feel the reluctance as Hamish hands it over, even going far enough to grip the handle tightly before the guard can fully take it. It works though, and we are allowed in. 

The city is all in a hurry it seems; everyone running along and shouts of traders can be heard. I pull my hood over my head and look around more at the purely stone structures. It reminds me of something, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Hamish grips my wrist suddenly, weaving me through the crowds. 

"Where are we going?" I ask, but I get no answer. Perhaps he didn't hear me. 

When we stop, we are in front of a tavern. I swallow hard and realise that I don't particularly like taverns. Still, Hamish pushes the doors open and we are inside, the noise not dulling even slightly. Hamish looks to me. 

"I'm sure we can find out about that mage in here," he says with optimism and a smile. I smile back, though I can tell he can see it's not genuine. 

I mostly just follow Hamish through and let him do the asking. We go to various people, and I find myself looking at man with… scales. Hamish talks with him like it's nothing but I can't peel my gaze away. The reptile man talks with a lisp and his tail wags with every word. His _tail_. I want to be as curious as I was when I first came here, but then I remember how that went over, so I force myself to not stare. It's harder than I thought, so I opt to resort to looking down at my feet. I can still see the swish of his tail in the corner of my eye.

When the man(?) leaves, Hamish turns back to me, "Well so far I can't get any--"

"What was that?" I shoot my head up before he can say anything else.

Hamish blinks once or twice before answering. "You mean that guy back there?" He points with his thumb. "A nice guy, actually. He didn't have much to say but--"

"What _was_ he though?" I interrupt again.

Hamish's brows furrow. "Stop doing that." He's silent for a moment before he comes to the realisation. "Wait, you've never seen an Argonian before?"

"A what?"

He laughs, and I am momentarily offended. "Akatosh bless, that's right. You would've never been able to see one." He drapes his hand around my shoulder as he leads me towards what I assume to be seats. "They're these reptilian people that come from a place to the south called Black Marsh. Horrible place, I hear. Smelly. Dangerous. Lots of venomous animals that always want to kill you."

We sit down in two chairs beside each other. "I see… I suppose there is much I still do not know." I grip my hands together, feeling the panic arise again. I control my breathing. 

"I guess before you do that to everyone, there are also Altmer, Bosmer, Redguards, and Khajiit." I tap each finger as he counts. "Oh, and Orcs. You don't see them around much, though."

"Why?" I ask, feeling calmer. 

He shrugs. "I don't really know why, but they just got shunned from normal society. I mean they're still around, I saw one earlier, just that people don't welcome them that much. Kind of like the Dunmer. Skyrim can be pretty racist, I have to admit. I'm lucky to be an Imperial. We kind of get it easy. Us and the Nords."

"Where do they all go?" I ask softly, sympathy echoing in my veins.

"Smaller towns. Away from people. If you're not an Orc, you get shot down on the spot. Makes for a not very friendly experience."

I look to the fire. "That sounds awful."

"Yeah, dying sucks," Hamish replies, setting his feet up on a table.

"No, I mean for the Orcs. I'm sure they were better people than that before they were shunned." The fire cracks at me.

I see Hamish shrug again in my peripherals. "Not really. My dad said they've always been kind of assholes, but he was sorta an asshole himself so maybe that's not a very good comparison."

"Ah, your father…." I begin, but Hamish freezes.

"Let's not, yeah?" He cringes and his voice suddenly sounds very small.

I nod, looking to Hamish in silence.

The silence is broken, however, by a loud bang at the tavern doors. There is shouting and slamming, and when I turn to look, everyone has begun to scatter. Hamish stands abruptly, obviously on the defense. I stand too, panic brewing underneath my calm demeanor. 

When I hear the sound of someone being obviously killed, Hamish grabs my arm and starts to run through the chaos. Everyone that is inside is screaming and some are crying, and when we make it far enough, I see someone sprawled over a counter, blood seeping around them and dripping off the edge. This time, I am mortified. Their eyes are still open.

"What is going on?" Hamish shouts over the noise. I find myself too scared to answer.

There is a louder voice: "Everyone just needs to calm their shit and we can be a-okay, okay?" That must be the instigator of all this.

People are running past Hamish and I, scrambling to get away. For some reason, the two of us stay standing. I'm not sure why, but when I look at Hamish's face, he seems to be focussing on something. Something hard. I can see the anger developing in his eyes and his grip around my wrist gets tighter. I twist it to try and get him to let go, but it just makes him grip it harder.

"Well, well, well," the same voice echoes. "There are my guests of honour." A man dressed much like Hamish walks through the people as if he is repelling them away. Two other men follow behind him, blood splattered on their cheeks. One is wiping off his sword.

"You can't have her," Hamish immediately says. There is anger and determination in his voice that I haven't heard before. It scares me slightly.

The man in front shakes his head as he puts his hands on his hips. "You seem to be mislead, dear… What was your name? Hamish? You're the one you can't have her, unfortunately. Well, unfortunately for you. What a waste of a good recruit. You could've done great things."

"Nothing I ever did with you was great," Hamish snarls in return.

"Then why did you enjoy it so much? I'm pretty sure all those smiles and laughs were for something. You and your pathetic friend were such good thieves. Such a shame we have to kill you too now."

Hamish is trembling now, and I fear there is a bruise on my wrist. "You killed James…" 

The man shrugs. The two beside him still haven't moved, though the one has stopped wiping his blade. "Killed… Tortured… Maimed… I sort of forget what Boss really did to him. Whatever it was, he was shut up. Now if only you'd be smart and avoid that." He glares down now, making me want to shrink. "Give us the girl."

"No," Hamish retorts. "And why do you want her?" He adds quickly.

Almost on cue, all the men laugh. "Why do _you ___want her? We plan to do great things with her. You're just dragging her along." He lifts a hand before Hamish replies, "And actually, little lady, or uh, what was it… Fyll? Why don't you say something honey?"

I peer around Hamish more, though his grip doesn't leave my wrist. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, more than it had when I encountered the other Falmer. It's almost as if those men are predators, and I am their prey. It's like they can sense I'm terrified. 

I take a deep breath. "Let go," I say sternly. 

The man looks confused. "Uh, what? 

"Let go and trust me," I repeat, and Hamish gets it. He lets me go. 

It is a split second decision I make: I raise my hands and put one foot back, focussing all my energy in my palms. The three men take their stances as well, pulling out weapons, but I am quicker. I lunge forwards, throwing icicles from my hands. The men all fly in different directions but still land with ease. I am not yet deterred. 

Hamish jumps too, mostly to get out of my way. I aim my palms down at the floor this time closing my eyes as I walk on the tips of my toes. As the men regroup to assumably attack me, I shoot my eyes open, flames curling around my wrists. One of the men tries to come at me, but I thrust my hands out, the flames around my wrist speeding up and then bursting out into a funnel, knocking the man back. Beside me Hamish begins to use his fists, dodging the other man's strikes and kicking him in the ribs. 

I turn my attention back to the one man left: the one who was speaking. He trembles slightly as he stands, but a malicious grin is soon on his lips. I take no time to begin my attack. In an instant I first duck from where his sword comes to slice me, twist myself around, and slam my hand, fingers out, onto his back. A surge of power runs through me, and the fabric under my skin bleeds red and burns, flinging the man back down to the ground. He is screaming in agony, rolling to try and ease his burn. 

I hear Hamish grunt behind me, and so I turn once more. He is still flawlessly dodging attacks, and has seemingly made a few bruises. I carefully track the man he's fighting with, following him with my finger. When I feel like I have enough room, I use my other arm to send a rope of fire towards him, cupping his waist and pulling him down. He too wails in agony, the burn going right through his armour and down to his skin. 

Hamish walks over to me, a grin all across his face. I let the magicka burning inside me cease and offer a small smile of my own. 

"Impressive," Hamish says over the men still screaming. 

"I'm glad you trusted me," I reply. 

"Enough!" Comes a scream from the floor. I spin around and see the man standing once more, a trembling arm holding out his sword. "Capture her!" 

There is no time to think. There hardly is time to breath before Hamish is taken from my side. I whip around to see now at least five more men coming in the tavern doors. They have Hamish by his hair, dragging him away from me. I begin to panic. 

"Hamish!" I yell, reaching out and running after him. I make it outside into the city before I am yanked back. 

"Fyll!" Hamish yells back, reaching out an arm of his own. He is immediately kicked in the face, and I scream. 

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" But I am being dragged. 

I feel laughter at my neck. "Thought you could beat us, little girl? Well," he starts, a knife stabbing Hamish in his right shoulder. My screams sounds more shrill now. "You can never beat us." 

"Stop! Stop! Let him go!" I scramble and realise I am crying. Sobbing, really. In utter hysterics. 

"You." The man grabs at my wrists. "Stop." He pulls them together. "Fighting!" There is a slice at my the top of my wrists. I wail in response, and Hamish looks up to me. 

"Fyll!" I see him struggling, kicking and scratching and biting at his attackers. He gets free momentarily, but not before there is an arrow in his left arm, dragging him back down. I can see tears running down his cheeks, and there is blood from his nose. "Don't take her!" 

The man takes my stunned state as an opportunity to bound my hands together. He laughs again. "Like that is really going to work. Do me a favour, Hamish, and kill yourself before we do. It'll be less painful." 

Even with the struggling, Hamish manages to speak. "Never. I won't ever let you take her, you hear me!" 

I am held by my hair, a muffled cry buried deep in my vocal cords. "Oh really? I'm pretty sure that's what we're doing now. Come on boys, we're wasting time." The man swings me over his shoulder and begins to walk away. Even slightly dazed I still kick and writhe. 

"Don't kill him!" I beg. "Please don't kill him!" I can only watch Hamish now, getting farther away from me. He is still trying to lurch forward, still trying to save me. I don't think I've ever cried harder. 

"Fyll!" He yells to me. "Fyll I promise I'll come get you!" He gets knocked in the back of the head with the hilt of sword. With one more trembling heave, his looks back to me, blood running down his cheek. "Fyll I--!" 

But it all goes black. 

_\--------------------------_

__The breeze tickles my ears. He sits next to me, plucking the petals from a flower._ _

__I scrunch my face. "You shouldn't do that," I say. "We don't get many flowers. Besides, they're pretty."_ _

__He shrugs, but does actually set it down. "I just feel like they don't belong."_ _

__I raise a brow. "How do you mean?"_ _

__"It's like there the one thing that grows here, yet nothing else like it does. It's the only one of its kind. It angers me in a way."_ _

__I scoot closer to Him. "In what way?"_ _

__"I don't know," He says, "Like as if it almost needs to be eliminated. Like it's a virus to this land, destined to bring it down."_ _

__I laugh. "What, with its beauty?"_ _

__He doesn't laugh back, or even smile. "I don't know."_ _

__"Well stop being so silly. You know, I press these flowers into my books. They make quite beautiful bookmarks."_ _

__Now He offers a small laugh. "You and your books…" He shakes his head lightly._ _

__"You and your weird perceptions of threat," I counter, poking his arm._ _

__There is a small silence. "Fyll…" He starts._ _

__I can tell He is going to be serious. "Yeah?"_ _

__"You're never gunna leave, right?" He looks to me._ _

__"Well, I mean, I have to go to the bathroom sometimes." I grin at him._ _

__Once more, he doesn't offer one back. "I'm serious."_ _

__I nod, "I know, I just don't like to think about those things."_ _

__"But do you have an answer?"_ _

__I reach to his lap to pick up the flower. It has two petals left on it. I twirl it around in my fingers. "No."_ _

_\--------------------------_

_"Word is they have the girl."_

_"Ah, good. Are they brining her here?"_

_"I assume so, sir."_

_"And what of the boy?"_

_"Dead, sir."_

_Another drum of fingers. "He better be."_


	4. Hamish

I wake to a rumble beneath me and a slight hit to the head. I slowly blink my eyes open, shifting around to examine my surroundings. As I try to lift a hand to scratch my head, my hand is tugged tight against what feels like rope. That's when I remember.

Fyll. 

I jerk my head around frantically now, trying to figure out where I am. It's dark, but not dark like night, and I can see a faint glow from what appears to be fabric above me. So it must be day… And I must be covered. Captured, more likely. Through what little line of sight I have, I peer around. I assume I'm with other captures, but all I see around me are crates and barrels. A… Cargo wagon? It doesn't make sense, so I try my luck with scooting around the tight space I have.

There is a particularly hard thump, and I end up whacking myself into a nearby crate, knocking what sounds to be like a lot of metal to the floor. Cursing under my breath I try to sit up as much as I can, but soon find that there is only enough room for me to bend my neck awkwardly. There is a deep sigh enlaced in my breathing. While I cannot do anything but be bumped around, I think.

My first thought is: why didn't they just kill me? I remember being beaten to a pulp, watching Fyll fall unconscious, and then being dragged from the tavern. Weren't they just going to kill me? Wasn't that their plan? I look around more, trying to decipher their newly contorted scheme. With nothing useful in my direct line of vision (that was still poor), I crawl around foolishly on my belly. All I find are more crates and barrels that don't even seem to have anything in them. I roll completely to one side of the wagon when there is a sharp turn, and then hear voices above me.

"What do you think the boss is gunna do once he gets a hold of 'im?" One says. My breath hitches. They must be talking about me.

The last time I ever remember someone going against boss's orders was when we were ordered to kill a village - kids and all. I wasn't part of the group that did the killing - I'm better at thieving - but one of the men that was there refused. And no one refuses the boss. I remember him brushing it off like it was nothing, letting the man sit on the sidelines like a kid in time out. But when we got back to base…

He had called everyone down to the main hall. We were all confused. Usually he only did this to commemorate a new member. Last time we all checked, there wasn't anyone new. The only other time was when we did a particularly hard heist. This was wasn't hard. I had cleared my throat, expecting the worst.

The worst, apparently, was the right thing to expect. When we came into the hall, the man who had disobeyed the boss was tied tightly to two poles - one hand and one foot to each pole. Upon closer inspection, he was tied with barbed wire and you could see the blood starting to run down his ankles and wrists. No one gasped: we knew that to be a weakness in the boss's eyes, and therefore punishable. And no one at that moment wanted to get punished.

"So," I recall the boss announcing from his new position behind the man, "Who remembers this fellow who didn't want to kill those 'poor little children'?" Sarcasm was drenched in his words, and they leaked from his mouth like venom.

No one answered. "Well I certainly do," he replies to himself as he jabs a finger in his chest. "And I didn't like it. No, not one bit, hm." He twirls - there is no other word for it - to face the man now, and he grins maliciously. "What are we going to do about that now?"

Everyone knows it's rhetorical. Even the man refuses to respond, fear the only thing clouding his eyes and tears start to dribble down. It seems the boss has noticed, and takes a finger to catch one as it falls down his cheek. He rubs it between his index finger and thumb, like it's an unknown substance. He laughs.

"Are we _crying_?" He says. "What, crying like those 'poor little children' you wanted to save so badly?" He wipes his hand on his pants. Another soft chuckle. "Well where are they now? Huh?" He steps up into the man's face. " _Where are they now?_ " He manically shrieks. Everyone has remained silent, even the man tied to the poles. He already knows what's going to happen. 

The boss turns to face us now, laughing as he walks closer. Two of his henchmen come next to him now: one is holding oil and the other is holding a torch. I swallow hard. "You know," the boss says as he grabs the pot of oil, "I don't consider myself cold hearted. Just… I just have a different perspective, yes?" No one answers. It's always rhetorical. He shrugs at the silence, turning to the man once more. He hums as he dips his fingers into the pot, gliding his hand all across the man. He starts at the ankle and goes to the hip. Then the other side. He dips his fingers in again - all the way this time - and smothers the man's chest with it. Next are the arms. The hands. And finally, as he dips his fingers in once more, he traces a single line down the man's face from each eye - a tear. Then an upwards curve on his lips - a smile. He sets the oil down and begins rubbing his hands on his pants. 

"I'd like to prove, actually, that I can be very warm at times," he explains as he comes back to his henchmen. He takes a torch and points it at the man's leg. The man flinches as best he can. I can't help but notice more blood coming from his joints as he does so. "See that oil? Very expensive stuff. The nice thing about it, though, is that it takes a while for it to burn. Weird, right?" He walks to the man again. Everything about his movements is tedious. "Well," he says as he dips the torch right next to the man's leg, "This means it won't burn as fast. It'll still burn fast, but you get to watch it. Brilliant, isn't it?" He grins up at the now sobbing man. The boss frowns. "You don't like this one gift I give you?" He lights the man leg. I can't help but flinch as the man lets out a shrill scream. 

"Your life!" The boss screams as the man is engulfed in flames. "This home!" I think I can hear begs in the man's screams. "I give you _all_ this and what do I ask in return? One, maybe two, _maybe_ three lives. That's it!" I can see the man flailing as the flames crawl up his torso. "It was that easy," the boss laughs, "Your life for theirs."

And he's done. He motions to us to leave as he walks away, but none of us do. I think I hear maybe a few men scurry out, presumably to puke, but I stay staring. I can't peel my eyes away from the flaming man. Still in his restraints he desperately flails, as if he thinks it will slow his pain. The fear that grows inside me from watching just one man's mistake. It is at this moment I begin to question my sanctuary, and I am only pulled away when James has had enough.

I will never forget that day, or the day after when there was a small bundle of something wrapped in a blanket thrown into the ocean. Too small to be a full body. My first thought is that they simply chopped up his charred remains. I voice this to James, but he doesn't even look at me. He pretends as if he didn't see the same thing I did. Perhaps I should have done the same thing, but instead I go back into the main hall. 

All remains of the man, and the fire that engulfed him, are gone. 

"I dunno," another voice says, bringing me back to the present. "Maybe he'll take a finger off for each time he doesn't say nuthin' about the girl." 

"Idiot, we already have a the girl. Plus, that's too nice for the boss." I swallow hard. He's right: that's far too humane for him. No, he definitely has something worse planned for me. That means I have to get out. Now.

I look around again, hoping (and maybe slightly praying) that I can find something of use. When I find nothing anywhere close to me, I roll down to the other side of the wagon. When I hit the wall and still find nothing, I begin to panic. I try not to listen to the men any longer, but they keep voicing their brilliant ideas of how the boss is going to "deal with me". I know they're doing it on purpose to get to me, but I can't let the fear pass. Not after what I saw. 

After my third or fourth attempt at rolling like a dog in grass around the wagon, I finally jab my arm into something sharp. With a curse under my breath, I realise this is a knife. A dagger would be better, but I can manage. With clammy and trembling fingers, I wriggle them around to try and grab the knife. I think I cut my palm in getting it to be vertical, but I don't care. 

With as careful as a hand as I can manage, I try and find the knot keeping my hands bound together. When I feel the blade cut into the groove of the rope, I begin to saw away. I go fast at first, but when the knife falls to the side I change to a slower, more calculated approach. After what feels like hours, my hands are finally free. I fall forward onto all fours gasping like my breath has been held in this whole time. I rub my wrists as I plan my next move. 

"Hey pull over when this bitch is outa our way, I gotta piss," one of the men says. Disgusting, but it'll work. 

Problem is, I don't know how much time that allows me. I waste no time scrambling for my dear knife. It's not the best weapon, but it's all I have, and it'll have to do. I crouch to where I think the front is and slowly poke my knife through the fabric, knowing this increases my chances of being found out. When there is a visible - tiny, but visible - hole with no screeches or otherwise protests, I consider it a success. With that groove started, I'll have a much easier time tearing through the fabric when I strike.

I wait, crouched with my knife pointed straight up, for what _has_ to be at least an hour before one of the men exasperatedly yells for the other to pull over. It's time. As soon as I hear the other one chatting about oh how wonderful it is to urinate, I thrust my knife up and across as fast and as hard as I can. 

I successfully create a wide enough gap for me to tear through, and do so with rage. The man driving the wagon screams unbecomingly as I jump onto the edge of the wagon. He tries to get to the sword at his hip, but I notice soon enough to throw the knife into one of his eyes. He wails now, probably in good respect at this point, and I take the opportunity to reach for his sword. 

My hand is right at it when there is a slash at the back of my knee. I tumble off the wagon and onto the dirt with a painful thump. There is only a small time gap for me to painfully grab the cut before I have to dodge another attempt coming for me. I roll away from it and clumsily spring up as the man swings at me once more. I barely dodge this one, and upon glancing up only for a second I see the other man still is writhing with the knife in his eye. 

"You were supposed to stay unconscious!" The one actively attacking me says as I dodge another jab only barely - he cuts my arm.

"Shoulda just killed me then," I retort before jumping back at an attempted stab. It seems even in near death situations, I can't afford to lose my sarcasm. 

"You fucking asshole!" The other man screams as he unsheathes his sword, just now ripping the knife from his eye. Shit. Times up, gotta act faster. 

I duck from a swing and take advantage of my crouched position: I swipe my leg across the dirt, tripping one of the men. He falls down to the ground, face first, and I am able to grab his sword just before he manages to get back up again. 

"No wonder boss made you take on the heists," he spits onto the ground as his little companion comes up behind him, handing him another dagger. "You're a quick footed little fucker." 

"I'm better with war hammers," I answer just as they both come at me. Their movements and mine become so clouded I can only think of dodging their advances and not even trying to bother to attack. I begin to forget I'm even holding a proper weapon when I bump against one of the horses. I look up to its disgruntled neigh as I remember I need to find Fyll. I have just enough time to bring my attention back to the fight to duck as one of the men slashes at me, instead hitting the horse. The horse neighs in pain and tries to run, but is bound by the wagon. Startled, the men draw back, but I just stand confidently and roll my shoulders. 

"You know," I say as I take a more sturdy stance, "It's not nice to abuse animals."

While they're still too stunned they hit a horse (for whatever reason), I lurch forwards and take a steady slash to one of their throats. As the one stumbles back, dropping his weapon in favour of grabbing his neck, I brace myself to dodge the other's obvious back slash to me. It's as effortless to dodge as it was to predict, and I use my weapon this time to directly thrust it into the other man's chest, cleanly ripping it back out. 

The two now writhe - as much as they can - on the ground as I wipe off the sword. "You know, I heard you guys talking about what the boss was gunna do to me." I watch as they slowly cease their movements. "I think this suits me better," I say as they finally stop twitching. 

I lean down to grab the leather case for the sword and tie it around my waist, sheathing said weapon. I turn my attention away from the corpses and go to the horse they cut, examining the wound. It's not deep, which goes to say for their swordsmen skills, and I fish around in the wagon for some herbs to help the pain. I find a few, dab them on the cut, and then cut the reins. The horse neighs to me objectively, but I motion in the direction of the plains. 

"Go, you're free. You don't need to stay here." I do the same to his friend, and while his friend darts off hurriedly, he stays put. I roll my eyes and climb into the wagon in search of something linking to Fyll.

I tear the whole thing apart: wood plank to wood plank, barrel to barrel, and there's nothing to help me find Fyll. I sit in amongst the empty wagon with my hands firmly against my face as if they are going to suffocate me. At the moment I wish they would. I wipe them down and slap them onto my lap and heave out an exhausted sigh. The smell of the dead bodies in the direct sun is sickening, and I'm no closer to finding Fyll.

I get up and out of the wagon, only to find the horse still standing there. "Really?" I ask him, "Are you really still here?" He neighs and shuffles his hooves. I roll my eyes and walk over to the dead bodies, staring them down angrily like they can still sense it. I feel like kicking one. Or maybe feeding it to a sabre cat. I opt to kicking them in frustration, much to the horse's vocal dismay behind me.

"Shut up!" I turn to yell at him. "I really need to find this girl, and you're not helping!" I turn back to the bodies. "And neither." A kick. "Are." A harder kick. "You!" I kick hard enough I lose my balance and fall to the ground. I curl into a fetal position, feeling just as helpless as if I was still bringing brought back to Japhet's Folly. The horse comes up to me and nibbles at the back of my neck in what feels to be comfort. I let out a breath that is usually the precursor to crying when I look up just once more.

There is a piece of paper sticking out of the belt of one of the men. I only notice it now, and I grab it frantically. There is some blood stained onto it I realise as I open it, but it's still readable: 

_  
Make sure to kill Hamish and then bring the girl to Broken Oar Grotto._

_We will regroup there._

I flip it over. That makes no sense. Why did they not kill me? But Fyll was at Broken Oar Grotto… I have heard that name before. I sit down to ponder the name when I see another sheet of paper. Unable to see a reason not to, I grab this one as well.

_Word from the Number One:_

_Capture Hamish instead, bring him to Japhet's Folly immediately._

I can't help but grin. So Number One wanted to go against the boss's orders just so he could beat me up? Hilarious. I crumple that paper but stick the other in my pocket so I don't forget the name. I stand now, brushing off the dust and dirt on my armour. I wipe my nose and sniff, turning to the horse. He just stampers and stares. 

"Care to join me?" I ask and his ears perk up. "I don't have a saddle, so it's gunna be a rough ride." He neighs and shakes his head, as if he understands every word I'm saying. I laugh under my breath as I hoist myself carefully onto him. I grab his mane and tap his sides: "Let's go."

I'm ever so closer to finding Fyll. 

It takes me three days to even find a somewhat helpful lead on this "Broken Oar Grotto"'s location. 

"Solitude?" I repeat after the man tending the inn.

He nods as he continues sweeping: "Heard it was a bandit hideout just to the northeast of the city. Bad place from what I hear. Why are you trying to go there?" He looks up at me with slight confusion.

I opt to ignore his question. "I really would like to avoid Solitude. You're sure it's there?" 

He nods slower this time. "But why--?" I don't let him finish, and instead turn on my heels to leave. When the inn's door is shut behind me, I breathe out.

Solitude. 

I hadn't been there since I left home. How long had it been? A year? I had vowed never to go back, even going as far as refusing to go on raids that were even close to there. I guess I understand why we went there now: rich people, huge mansions, the goddamn High King of Skyrim… And our little secret hideout. Maybe if I had gone to these missions, I would already know where Fyll was. But then maybe that's why they took her there in the first place. Those bastards could be clever when they wanted to be.

I waste no time now getting on my horse and setting off. As my horse trots happily I glance at my map. By the looks of it, it'll still be at least a day and a half before I reach Solitude. I fold it shut and shove it back into my pocket. Well, that's more time for me to dread stepping foot in there again. 

I reach the stables at night - approximately the middle of the night by the looks of the moon. I nervously tie my horse inside one of the stables. Sensing my unease, he stomps and neighs unhappily, looking directly at me with his ears twitching. I stifle out a troubled laugh.

"It's okay," I tell my horse, "I'm fine." Partly though, I am also telling myself. 

I start up the path from the stables to Solitude proper, trying not to act suspicious. I don't see anyone but guards as I walk the hill to the gates. They don't even look at my twice as I pass, instead keeping their backs perfectly straight as they patrol. I suppose that's a good thing, but the whole concept of a guard makes me uncomfortable. Old habits I guess.

I pass through the gates without being assaulted which is another good sign I think. The city is eerily quiet as I walk in… Not at all how I remember. But then again, I never went out at night. Hardly ever left the house. A small shiver ripples through me.

Remembering why I'm even here in the first place, I try to ignore the itching feeling like I don't belong. There is still this underlining fear that I might see my brother - or worse, my parents - but he was too cowardly to even think about going out at night. Besides, I look so different now he wouldn't even recognise me. 

With these thoughts in place I decide to go to the nearest tavern and try to see if this grotto is really where that man said it was. If my memory serves me, it should be The Winking Skeever. I start off walking in the direction where I remember it being and sure enough I am there in a matter of minutes. I creak the door open and am greeted with loud music and voices. It almost looks as if someone is celebrating. 

I weave through the people and make my way to the bar where there is a man laughing and talking with a woman. I clear my throat to interrupt them.

"Hail!" The man cheers as he raises his hands. "What brings you to the Winking Skeever?" 

"A bed and perhaps some mead," I answer, getting comfortable on one of the seats.

"Of course, of course," the man says as he leans down to grab a glass. "The name's Corpulus. Corpulus Vinius, by the way." He sets the glass of mead down in front of me. "You've been to Solitude before?"

I choke on a sip slightly, wiping my mouth as I bring the glass away. "I have." I try to hide my bitterness. 

"Oh you have then!" This "Corpulus Vinius" sure is cheerful… "Well tis a beautiful city, uh…."

"Hamish," I reply, taking another sip. 

"Ah, Hamish. That's a nice name you got there son, keep some honour to it, eh?"

I hide my grimace in the cup, "I'll see to that."

I eventually get a bed from him and promise that I'll pay tomorrow for both the room and the mead. It's a lie of course, and I plan on leaving via the window before the sun even has a chance to rise. 

The room is nice enough when I plop myself down on the bed. I lay down on top of the covers, too bothered to try to sleep. Should I even sleep? Each minute I'm not looking for Fyll she could be getting tortured or prodded… I make the thought leave my mind and roll over, not thinking I'm going to sleep.

I wake up to the sun burning my face. Shit. There goes the before dawn plan. I sit up, my hair a mess, and see I never made it under the covers. Oh well. Easier to clean up I guess. I stretch a little before leaning over and prying the window open. I lean out, scanning the area to make sure no guards are around. When I'm convinced the coast is clear, I climb out and descend the wall carefully until my feet are on the ground. 

The city feels so much different than I remember. I don't recognise any of the people, and there seem to be a lot more. My feet shuffle in the dirt pile I've created with my landing, and I feel as though even the dirt feels different. I take a step out from the shadow I've semi-hidden behind and walk out into the market. People are bustling about with baskets of flowers here, a bag slung over the shoulder there. Everyone has something to do it seems. I remember now that I do too.

Not knowing where the best direction is to go, I decide left sounds good enough. Shortly ahead of me there are stairs leading up to Castle Dour, and I feel like I should probably avoid that. More of the market district is right across, however, and I see a man setting up what looks like a hunting stall. The myriad of furs and animals suggests he is well traveled and, for me, a good start. 

He is tying what looks like a rabbit to the stall when I approach. "That's nice fur you got there," I say, pointing at the rabbit. He shrugs and bends down to grab another. "Though I don't remember seeing that many rabbits around here. Last I recall those were mostly found in Whiterun hold."

The man narrows his eyes at me, and upon closer inspection he appears to be a Redguard. "What're you trying to say?" He asks, voice low and cautious. 

I raise my hands, palms open to him, as if to surrender. I shake my head slowly, "I mean no harm good hunter, just suggesting you travel wide for your game."

His posture softens. "You're right, lad, that I do. No good staying in one area. The animals start to know you, I swear."

I nod passively. "I'm sure the people do, too."

He stops for a moment at that, and then continues his knot saying, "I'm not sure what you're trying to pull at, boy."

I sigh deeply. "I'm trying to find a cave. No, more of an outpost of sorts."

He laughs halfheartedly. "Am I supposed to know where this is?"

"You might help," I say. "It's, well… It's not very friendly."

Another small laugh. "Few places are, son. Not even the cities really are if you look hard enough."

I nod again, this time slightly more agitatedly. "Well, I'm looking for a particular not very friendly group of really not friendly people."

His eyebrows raise. "Oh, trying to start some trouble?"

"Inadverently," I mutter.

He hangs up a fourth rabbit. "What kind of unfriendly people are we talking about? They're alive, right?"

I shoot him a confused look. "Alive? What? Yes, of course they're alive."

He laughs, shaking his head. "You don't travel enough, son." I pretend to not be offended. "Okay, so they're alive. Are they Man or Mer?"

"Man, mostly. The odd Khajiit or Argonian. Never any Mer, really," I shrug.

His eyebrows raise a little higher. "You seem to know a lot about these folks." I watch as his gaze scans me up and down. I feel slightly uncomfortable. 

"Well let's say I just really need to find them," I say a little bit too hurriedly. 

His eyebrows finally calm down. "Well, I'd say they were bandits, probably."

No shit, I think to myself, but instead say: "That sounds about right, yeah."

I can tell he's thinking, the way he begins to gnaw at his lower lip and tap his foot, going silent. I start to whistle quietly and bend over to look more at his game. The man has pretty much everything, save for maybe horkers and snowy variants. I glance at the man himself, and he looks fairly hardy. Would definitely be a problem if I pissed him off, especially when my eyes catch the mace hanging at his hip. What kind of animal is he killing with a mace? I take back my question when next he lifts up a mammoth tusk. Well, that makes sense.

He lets out an unforgiving whistle. "I'm not sure I really can help you there." He turns to me, finally, and sets his (bloody, if I'm really looking) hands on the stall, tapping at the wood. He looks as though he's going to say something when he lifts his head and opens his mouth, only to close it again. I can almost feel his eyes focusing on something behind me when he says, "That man over there sure looks like he can help you, though."

I turn to where he now points his finger and see not a man, but an Argonian leaning against the walls of the stairs. A malicious grin is across his face, and I swear I can see fangs in there. His tail curls around his left leg and I suddenly feel like I'm prey. 

I saunter over slowly, never breaking the reptile's gaze. People weave through me and I them, but the man (was he?) doesn't move. His tail curls and uncurls menacingly but that is all. When I reach his position I give him a once over and sniff. "Shouldn't you be on the docks, lizard?" I ask with as much disgust as I can muster.

He just laughs and it sounds like a slither. "Shouldn't bandits be as far away from the law as possible?" He retorts, and I am slightly taken aback.

Trying to cover up my surprise I quickly get out a, "Touché," as if he hadn't blown my cover in the first few seconds of talking to him.

There's another sly laugh and he leans forward slightly. "I think I can offer you a special deal, stranger," he whispers. I raise my brow, skeptical of his willingness to suddenly make negotiations. Although considering the fact that he was wearing - and if I'm being picky - slightly risqué leather armour, he was probably a bandit too. Or a bounty hunter. I swallow thickly. 

"Oh? And why should I trust you?" I ask, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

He rubs a scaly finger against an equally scaly chin - a claw taps the tip. "There's treasure involved," he whispers again. I give him my best I-don't-give-a-crap-about-mere-treasure face and I suppose it convinces him because he says next: "Well then, perhaps I can offer you information."

I stand up straight. This grabs a handful of my attention. "Information I like. What sort of information?"

The lizard man slips out a thinly folded piece of paper from his belt and waves it at me. "A map. A map of all dens around here and the bandits affiliated with them. All yours if you agree to help me."

I consider just gutting him and taking the map right there, but decide if I want to get to Fyll as fast as possible, prison probably wasn't a good idea. Instead I just say, "Deal."

He nods approvingly as he slips the paper back where it was. "Excellent." It sounds like a stereotypical villain 'excellent'. "By the way, the name's Jaree-Ra."

A scaly hand is thrusted towards me and I take it begrudgingly, the scales feeling strange and perhaps sharp if I dragged my fingers across them. "The name's Hamish. Now, what sort of help do you need?"

That malicious grin returns. "I need you to extinguish a lighthouse for me."

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

I'm not used to Argonians. The times I've had to deal with them, they were usually part of a rival gang so I suppose my extent of dealing with them is killing them. I've never really had an extensive conversation with them that wasn't filled with threats and obscenities. They've always seemed like little thieving freaks and, yeah, maybe I am a little jealous that they can breathe underwater. The point is, I don't understand Argonians.

I'm sitting on top of the Solitude Lighthouse, looking down as the tide caresses the small beach when I reflect on this. Jaree-Ra, this strangely sociable Argonian, had explained to me this detailed plan that ultimately led me to extinguishing this lighthouse. He told me I just had to wait and see the magic happen, and that his sister would explain everything else. First of all, I didn't even know Argonians let girls be bandits, and second, a sister? I wasn't ready to deal with a sister, let alone a presumably skilled bandit lizard sister. She was probably deadly, and probably deadly to me specifically. I let out a frustrated sigh as my legs bump against the side of the lighthouse they are hanging over. I've been sitting here for maybe three hours, and consider leaving until I hear something coming through some fog.

There is the distinct sound of water being broken unevenly and my first thought is _boat_. I try my best to peer over, eyes squinting, and there is indeed a ship coming to dock. Problem is, it's coming too fast and begging for an encounter with some sharp rocks jutting out from the shore. I am about to run down and maybe try to stop it somehow until a mischievous grin finds its way to my lips. So that's why I put this out. Jaree-Ra must've known somehow that a specific shipment was coming in and wanted to sabotage it. Argonians are clever, apparently. 

Not knowing what else to do, and, frankly, being really bored, I quickly make my way down the lighthouse stairs with anticipation in my veins. Okay, so I still liked treasure. I just wanted to seem all big and tough. By the time I am down there, the ship has in fact made a violent welcome to the shore. When I am convinced that it's not going to sink completely, I take out my sword and slowly stalk my way to a ledge I can climb.

As I find one, I grip my blade between my teeth and climb a thick rope. By the time I'm at the top and I fling my sword onto the deck, I am exhausted. Should've trained better in climbing, apparently. I swing one leg over and eventually my whole body, not very gracefully either. As I stand and rub my sore bum, I take a look around. Confusion hits first.

There are dead bodies on deck. Quite a lot, actually. They look like they put up a good fight too. I carefully walk over to one of the men and peer down, trying to wipe away some of the blood to get a better look. Definitely man, not mer or beast. No insignia anywhere, though. Judging by how they went down (simple stab wounds from the sides, stab wounds in the middle center back, slices across the throat) they weren't very skilled, either. Perhaps they were just hired mercenaries. Strange.

I go to turn on my heel, and I'm met with a _bump_ into something hard. Severely confused, I shake my head lightly and look up. My clearing confusion is met with a very angry looking Nord wearing simple iron armour. "Uh, hi there," I greet sarcastically. "Were you gunna eat that? I didn't mean to taint it or nothin'."

The man growls low in his throat. "You must be that Imperial Deeja was talking about."

Scratching the back of my head I simply reply with a: "Who?"

He rolls his eyes. "Deeja. Jaree-Ra's sister. She told us to expect a mangily little Imperial by the name of Hamish."

Ignoring the insult I swiftly salute. "That's me."

"Right," he says and I can sense his eyes wanting to roll so badly. "Deeja is on board, in the cargo ward." Before I ask, he adds, "Two levels down. Don't keep her waiting. And don't touch anything."

"Righto, thanks big guy," I say as I pat him on the shoulder. I can feel him rumble underneath me and I make a note to pick up the pace.

If the deck was only slightly surprising, on board is just gruesome. The presumed hired mercenaries are literally all over the place. Their blood is smeared in some places and splattered in others. I take a quick look at these men and notice the same consistency in fatal wounds. My first thought is unskilled again, but perhaps they were skilled but their opponent was even more so. That thought makes me croak internally and I hurry faster. 

Numerous men dressed in iron armour pass me, gathering what I presume to be their plunder. There are what seem to be like hundreds of boxes and even more stray crap on the ground and some shelves. Most of the men don't even notice me, but the ones that are having a wee snack give me nasty looks. Well excuse me for joining in on the fun.

When I get to the second level, I find it mostly submerged in water. Walking around the deeper parts and some floating boxes, I find the back of a leather dressed lizard who I assume to be this Deeja. An equally creepy tail to Jaree-Ra's, swishes almost gleefully back and forth. She is talking to two burly looking dudes, and doesn't even notice me approach her. One of the burly dudes makes eye contact and then nods towards me, and that gets her to turn around. 

"Ah, you must be the Imperial," she says in a raspy voice.

"Hamish," I correct with a tip of the head.

She waves a clawed hand. "It does not matter." She takes a moment to come closer to me. She looks up and down, and upon noticing my sword I hear a small laugh. I want to make a comment about how I'm longer where it counts, but decide those two aforementioned burly dudes wouldn't like that too much. So instead I just stand up a bit straighter and clear my throat.

"He doesn't look like he has much on him," she says, and I assume it's to the two men behind her. They exchange looks I can't possibly decipher. "Jaree-Ra really messed up on this one, I don't know what he was thinking." She brings a hand to her forehead and proceeds to shake her head in disappointment. I am momentarily offended again.

"Hello, still here," I chime, and she shoots her head up with a dangerous look.

"You are, aren't you? I always hate getting rid of bad product. Waste of time and energy." She turns away from me and starts to walk to the back of the ship. "Care to take of him, boys? The sooner we're done, the sooner we can get back to dear Brother."

"Wait, what?" I say exasperatedly, losing my stance and all over form, causing me to fall over slightly.

The only response I get is the two men drawing their weapons and making their way to me, fast. It takes me a moment to realise I've been set up, and just in time for me to dodge the first slash of a mace. As I unsheathe my sword, I also realise I'm angry. Pissed off, even. Really pissed actually. Pissed enough I take a chance and roll under one of the men, slicing his ankle. When he keels over in a chorus of shrieks, I notice that was a close call. As soon as I come to that splendid revelation I dip to avoid getting smashed in the face with a unsettling looking mace. The man of which I cut his ankle grips it hard before getting up again, attempting to come at me. It's easier this time to dodge him, and I take my foot and kick him back down to the ground.

"You're an annoying little set back, huh?" The one standing man says to me. 

"I tend to be, yeah," I sarcastically reply as I cock my head, rolling forward and kicking the mace from his hand. He curses before rushing to get it, but I'm faster. I jab the hilt of my sword into his neck and he chokes as he falls forward. I take this sliver of a moment to take my sword in both hands and thrust it down into his back. It takes quite a bit of force to get it all the way through, but when it does the man makes a completely undignified choking sound before going limp around the wound. I can't help but smugly smile.

"They… They never said you'd be this good," the man on the ground manages, a shaking hand grabbing his sword. 

I scoff under my breath, "And they never said I was part of the loot, so I guess we're even." I go to slide my blade out from the very dead man, but about halfway through it gets stuck. A grumble slips past me as I hear the man shuffle behind me. I try to wiggle it, but it remains stuck. I'm going to put my foot on the dead man's back when I hear the definite squeal of death behind me. Hands still on the hilt, I turn and see Deeja shaking her head down at the man, an arrow right on the top of his head.

"Pathetic," she says, "You'd think he'd get better outlaws."

Pretending that I'm not panicking, I put more force into lifting my sword. Alas, it is to no avail. Well then, time to stall. "By the condition of the already dead crew, I thought maybe they were more skilled. Looks like it was more like two goats caught in each other's tusks."

This gets a laugh from her. "Too bad we can't keep you," she says, "I like you."

More force. Still not a real budge. I shrug, "You could still defy your dick of a brother and let me go."

She slowly shakes her head when she meets my gaze. "Sorry, it's not just my brother I'd be betraying. It'd be the Blackblood's as well."

I stop my sword in the stone gig for a moment as my eyes narrow. "Blackblood's you say?"

She sheathes her bow and instead brings out a dagger. She flips it in her hand as she replies: "What, have we terrorized your little village before?"

I grip the hilt even harder as I pull, biting my lip. "No," I grunt out, the sword almost there. "Didn't your dear brother tell you?"

She gets into a proper fighting stance, her free fist forward. "That you were a dirty little bandit? Yeah."

A laugh escapes my shortened breath. "Not a loner though, which I'm sure he told you." When she nods carefully, I elaborate: "I'm not just a mere bandit, I just happen to be a part of the Blood Horker's, ma'am."

Her eyes turn to daggers as she hisses. "You little bastards," she manages through gritted teeth. 

"We try," I say, and just as she comes at me, I get my sword free and the sound of metal-on-metal rings throughout the cabin. 

She pushes hard against my blade, and it's surprisingly effective. I stumble slightly. "Your leader is worse than Malacath," she seethes. 

I give a nonchalant shrug. "I'll give you that one, yes." Regaining my grip, I push back at her, enough so she jumps back, repositioning herself.

"All you do is kill and retrieve. There's no rhyme. No reason. You all are just his loyal dogs, and all you want is _meat_." She spits the last word out, and I can almost feel the venom in it hit me. She comes at me again, this time faster, and I barely miss the cut that goes across my cheek. Stumbling slightly as I raise my defense again, she comes back sliding her foot under mine, causing me to almost fall over. Almost, not quite.

"I'm guessing we killed your dog or something?" I say, circling her and her circling me like a pair of unfriendly cats. Unfriendly of course being slightly understatement. 

"You don't even remember," she growls almost completely under her breath. I raise a brow confusedly and shake my head. "I guess I couldn't expect you to. You have the memory of a ceremonial cow." She leaps - there really is no other word for it - to me and kicks my shins, and this time I do actually fall over. My sword flies from my hand and clangs somewhere in the cabin. She brings her dagger down to my neck, and I can feel a small cut blooming under her careful pressure. "You burned down and killed almost my entire town. My brother and I are some of the only ones left. And you know what? Your leader only did it to get back at someone who insulted him."

"Probably called him fat. He hates that," I reply, and more pressure goes to my precious neck. Probably not the best response I think now.

"You deserve to die," she hisses. "Not just because it was already part of our plan. Not because you proved to be worthless. No, you need to die because all rabid animals do." In the second it takes her to bring her dagger back, I curl and extend my legs, kicking her stomach, causing her to gag and fall back, giving me time to stand again. She keeps hold of her dagger, which is annoying, and I figure I don't have time to get my sword, so I just bring up my fists for defense. 

She stumbles as she stands, holding her stomach. Her eyes are burning daggers now, and I feel as if they really could burn me. "Look," I begin, "I'm sorry that happened to you, but it's possible I didn't even have a part of it." She swings at me again, this time a bit less calculated and I am able to get out of the way easily.

"Yet you still stand with them. Fight for them," she replies, disgust still in her voice. She comes again. I dodge again, bopping her on the back of the neck to slow her down more. It works.

"I mean, sort of? The story is kinda long, and I'm thinking you never liked story time," I explain as she continues to swing at me.

"Perhaps I should cut your tongue out first to shut you up," she spits out. This time when she comes, it's evident she's gained her ground again, but not enough for me to not grab her wrist. In a quick moment, I snap her wrist, and judging by her shriek I broke it. As her dagger falls and she too falls, clutching her wrist, I go to grab the weapon. When she is on her knees, shaking, I take my chance.

I grab her by the straps of her armour and slam her against the wall. It's my turn to take the blade to her neck, and I do so with slightly more pressure than she had on me. Blood starts to trickle down the blade as I stare into her scaly eyes. "I don't want to kill you, Deeja. I didn't come here to kill anyone. I came here to help your sick brother so he could give me a map. So just tell me where he is and I'll let you go."

She laughs, clawing at my grip on her. "You think threatening me like this is going to make me reveal my brother's location? You are a fool." She spit the last remark, and droplets of it hit my face. 

I press the dagger harder, and I can feel her pulse quickening. "You know I'm going to get out of here. You're not gunna stop me. Your little army isn't going to stop me. Your _brother_ isn't going to stop me. So it'd be a lot easier on me if you just told me where he was."

She manages to shake her head ever so slightly. "N-Never," she croaks.

A sigh is released. I return the head shake, mine heavy with disappointment. "I was hoping I didn't have to kill you, Deeja. I mean, I can't have you going around and telling all your little buddies where I am. Then I'd really be in trouble."

Another laugh. "Running away are we, Mr. Hamish?" 

"Yes, actually," I say quickly after. "But now I'm looking for something. Specifically some _one_. And I need that map."

She wriggles underneath me. "Going to murder her too? You're such a ladies man."

I don't even sigh this time. "Actually, if I don't get to her she will definitely be killed."

Claws find their way into my skin. I cringe, loosen my grip ever so slightly, but I don't dare let go. "Why don't I believe you?" She asks, and her voice is breaking up.

"Because nothing I could do would change that," I say, and I realise I'm wasting my time. I huff out a breath and wipe the sweat building on my forehead with my arm. "Look, my time is running out. Are you gunna tell me where Jaree-Ra is?"

"No," she barely makes out before I slice her throat. She instinctively goes to it with her hands, and shivers down the wall and onto the ground. Blood drips from her mouth, yet she still finds a way to smile. "Y-You… Y-Y…" I glance down at her, wiping off the blood from the blade. She opens her mouth to say something more, but her eyes roll back into her head instead and her whole body goes limp. I let myself go limp too, slightly, and lean down to her.

"I'm sorry about your town, I really am," I tell her dead body. "But I have to get to Fyll." I close her eyes and put my hands on my knees to stand when I catch my eye on a pouch hanging from her side. Any start is a good start, I think, and I rip it off, opening it as I stand. 

There's mostly spare coin and a few gems in it, but eventually I come across a folded piece of paper. Thinking it's the map I drop the bag, the coins and gems making a clatter as they hit the wood. Unfolding it with clammy, too quick hands, I find inside not a map, but a note. 

_Deeja,_

_Make quick with the cargo and wait for the Imperial Hamish. He should be there between when you hit land and sunrise. Make sure you check him for valuables, and then take care of him. After all is done, meet me in the house under the lighthouse._

_Jaree-Ra._

I crumble the note and let it fall. He was so close. I could have spared her life even. One last sigh escapes me as I turn to leave. I get my sword and sheath it, and stick the dagger in my belt. No use leaving it here. As I go to leave, I look back at Deeja's body. I admire her courage in battle; her fierceness. Perhaps it will serve her well in the after life.

I carefully make my way through the rest of the cargo level, either stealthily taking out the now bandits or just sneaking around them. I'd like to avoid dulling my blade as much as possible. As I make my way up the stairs and into the level that leads out to the deck, I am immediately greeted by two more burly dudes as the trapdoor shuts behind me.

"Where's Deeja?" One of them asks me, brows furrowing.

I shrug, brushing off my armour. "Oh, she's still down there. She just sent to me take a message to Jaree-Ra. So… Seeya." I attempt to slide between them, but once I'm almost through one grabs my braid and pulls me back. It only hurts _slightly_.

"What kind of message?" One asks, a growl hidden in there.

"A private one," I blurt back and shimmy out of his grip. Before I beeline for the door I turn back, giving a salute. "So, yeah, take care of the loot and all that jazz. I'll be back soon." I start to make my almost but not quite run for the door, and I'm almost there until I feel a harsh presence behind me suddenly. 

I turn, and I am indeed now facing four burly dudes with an assortment of weapons, between maces and war hammers. Lovely. "We just got word Deeja's body was found in the cargo deck," one says carefully. 

"Oh, really? That sucks. I'll be sure to let Jaree-Ra know." I try to turn to leave, but a war axe's tip finds my stomach. 

The same one speaks again, "I forgot to mention, two of my men were found dead down there as well. In the same room. Not to mention I've also gotten word of some missing."

"Well crap," I say, and the first swing comes. I am actually able to avoid being impaled by the war axe, and as I duck said war axe flings into one of the men's sides. As he pathetically screams I bring out my dagger for quick movement. I don't have time for another all-out fight. I need to take them down, and fast. Like before, I go for two ankles - one for each man. As they fall, their weapons ungracefully falling with them, I bring my foot up between the legs of another and as he crumbles I take a quick slash to his throat. The one with the war axe brings it back up pathetically, and as he comes to swing at me it's almost like a dance move as I duck, bring myself up, and gut him. As my blade slips out and he falls, I let out a shortened breath. 

With all men on the ground and some dead, I turn to see if there is anyone else. One man stands, a box labeled "plunder" in his grasp. He looks terrified, and doesn't even go for his weapon. I decide to let this one go, so I give him a nod. He seems to understand, and quickly drops the box in favour of turning tails and running. I don't care where he runs. Really, I hope he tells the rest of the crew to not bother messing with me. I don't wait to find out, and I step over writhing bodies and walk out onto deck. 

The old, slightly rotten wooden door creaks unsatisfyingly as I open it. Stepping inside I am greeted by some warmth and the sound of a crackling fire. A voice echoes throughout: "The cat was easy to take down. I swear he was declawed." A smug chuckle comes from the same voice and it continues: "I'm guessing your prey went down easily as well?"

I turn the corner and find the source of the voice. Jaree-Ra sits on a rocking chair, a very bloody and very dead Khajiit on the floor next to him. His breath stops and he rocks forward, feet cementing themselves on the ground. He stops doing something with hands. He just stares at me. 

"Not as easy," I say, already unsheathing my sword, gripping it hard.

"Then Deeja is…?" He asks, still not standing.

"Dead."

He nods. "I see." He stands now, sighing. "I guess we were wrong about you. Turns out you are valuable."

I laugh lightly. "Deeja didn't seem to think so."

He waves his hand dismissively. "She always does… Did that. Thinking she is… Er… Was, was the higher up." I notice the grief settling in his eyelids as he goes on. I momentarily feel regret, but it comes as fast as it goes.

"I'm not going to stand here and get a spiel from you too. In fact, I'm just gunna cut to the chase: I need that map. Right now." I beckon him with my hand.

He cocks his head. "So you presumably murder my sister and then come in here demanding something from me?"

I nod acrimoniously, "Yeah, kinda." 

He takes two daggers of his own. Oy, daggers. "That's too bad, because I don't take murdering lightly."

I grin now, loving the challenge. We begin to circle like aforementioned unfriendly cats. "I bet you do, actually."

A grin is returned. "I do, yeah."

And we go at each other. 

He is quicker than his sister, and I am unable to get any moves in against him. I actually get cut several times, and some of them deep. Annoyed, I try to be faster but I just end up losing my ground easier. I'm not sure how I'm going to get any damage done to him, and my time just keeps running out. It's with one last half flip back that I finally get a chance to cut in - literally. 

I take my sword and, with two hands around the hilt, I swing it horizontally so that it cuts him almost in half in the upper torso. I stop about a third of the way in his gut, and I subsequently hear the sounds of clattering daggers on the ground as he goes to the wound with his hands. He chokes, and a little speckle of blood comes out with his spit. More is slowly dripping from my blade where it meets his skin. 

"Nothing personal," I say, shaking as I hold my stance. "But my time is really running out."

Jaree-Ra laughs, spitting out more blood. "Impressive, stranger," he begins, "I've never met someone that could not only out best my sister, but me as well." He groans and I can see and feel him start to tremble. "I feel fulfilled dying at such skilled hands. The map is yours." With a bloody, quivering hand, he reaches to his belt and flings the map to the floor. He kicks it forward to me slightly, and I know this is my cue to finish him up. And I do, bringing my sword out and slashing him again so his lifeless body rag dolls to the ground. He plumps down undignified, creating a bloodstain where he falls.

I kneel down and pick up the map, wiping off my sword. When I sheath it and unfold the map, I do so trying to avoid the bloodstains he has made on it. My eyes dart all over the page until they settle on one location called Broken Oar Grotto. Next to it is a barely legible "Blood Horker's" scribbled with what seems to be a hurried hand. I let my breath out, not knowing I was even holding it in. This must be where Fyll is. 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

The first word that comes to mind is mold. It certainly smells like a grotto, wet and slimy. It's an appalling size, the cavern itself being hundreds of feet wide, not to mention all the hastily put together scaffolding. Even my feet are submerged in a sort of congealed mud-goo that is just really not welcome to the senses at all. Basically - the place is disgusting.

This honestly just makes matters worse for me because I know Fyll is somewhere in here, probably in worse condition than my feet, and I need to get her out. This is the only real thing that makes me take my first - there is really no other word for it - trudge into the grotto. As I get in closer I see it is massed with an army of those conniving Blood Horkers. Which, I guess, is hypocritical since up until recently I was one.

Stealth never being my best attribute, I try my best to skulk around the bandits who are no doubt more skilled than me if they're guarding Fyll. Guarding… But that wasn't right. They were keeping her captive, for whatever reason, and these aren't her guards. She's in prison. These are her wardens. 

I grind my teeth as I move forward, and decide to take a route that slips under the scaffolding and dips slightly into the water. My feet make minimal splash noises compared to the sheer sound of commotion going on. We--They, must have just gotten a huge plunder from somewhere. I can't help but stare at some of it longingly but think of the ill will that got it here and it's enough for me to ignore it. I remind myself I have a new priority now, and that's keeping Fyll safe.

"Is Boss coming here to get her or what?" I hear a fellow bandit say as I pass under him.

There is a scuffle of feet. "Not yet apparently. He said he'd be here with the 'biggest shipment'."

A scoff. "Wonder what that could be."

"Dunno, but not sure what's bigger than an ancient species. Let alone a girl."

I can almost hear a smug smile: "Yeah, I hope Boss let's all get a go at that."

Once they start laughing I've had it. There is no way I can sit there while they talk about Fyll like that without doing something. So, without thinking, I bring out my dagger and slice the backs of both their heels, and sneak-run away as fast as I can while their shrill screams fill the cavern, pretending I'm not grinning ear to ear.

It was actually a good decision apparently. All the dumbass bandits scurry down to help the men, giving me a chance to hike myself up to higher ground without getting immediately spotted. I do so slightly more gracefully than getting on the ship, but still falter when I heave my other leg over. Once I am on the scaffolding safely, I dart behind some convenient barrels to get out of sight of two men coming my way. 

When they pass me by, I think to look to the top of cavern suddenly, and my breath hitches. I see there, at the very top of a cliff, there is Fyll, bound in chains between two wooden poles. Just like the man who disobeyed Boss. It takes all of my self control to not yell out her name, clamber out from behind these barrels, and run full force to meet her. Instead I curl my hands into hard fists and I can feel my nails pierce the palms.

I am only distracted by the sudden excruciating pain in my side. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

end part three

intermission

"Hey, Mom?" I ask, clumsily crawling into her lap.

The fire cracks and hums, and it's almost as if my mom hums along with it; a song I do not know. She plays with the ends of my growing hair. "Yes, Hamish?"

"How did you know Dad was the one?"

She continues to hum and I snuggle into her embrace. "You need to get your hair cut, dear."

" _Mom_." I whap her hand away from the red string-like filaments coming from my head. 

She sighs. "Boys aren't supposed to ask their mothers that," she says playfully, but there is a hint of seriousness in her tone. Her eyes narrow down at me. "There isn't something I should be worried about, right?"

I laugh, "No, Mom. I just want to know when I truly care about someone."

Her fingers go back to my hair, and she untangles it gingerly. "You don't think you will know?"

I shrug. "Not really."

She pauses for a moment, and her humming stops. The only sound there is is the dull hum of the dying fire. When I look at her eyes they are heavy, and I can tell she's deep in thought. I think I've almost lost her when her eyes shut and she offers a small smile.

"You won't be able to sit still, won't be able to _breathe_ , until they're safely in your arms."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vigorous work of fine. Currently it is a massive 90 pages in my computer, with very much still to go. If you are interested in smut or anything sexual, this is not the place to be. Every character in here is original (with mentions to game characters).  
> This all being said, I hope some of you will enjoy this. I figured it was time to get it out.  
> (Bonus points if Bethesda reads this hurr.)


End file.
